


Summer Lovin

by MissGillette



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Explicit Sexual Content, Falling In Love, Gay Billy Hargrove, HIV/AIDS Crisis, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M, Mutual Pining, POV Alternating, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Polyamory, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Season/Series 02, Recreational Drug Use, Slow Burn, Sort Of, Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-02-22 17:41:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 18
Words: 106,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22320100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissGillette/pseuds/MissGillette
Summary: In the summer of 1984, Steve's parents take him on vacation to California as his last hurrah before senior year and the stress of college. He meets Billy after almost drowning in a rip current.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 108
Kudos: 213





	1. Little Mermaid

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in three weeks. Buckle up, cuz it's a wild ride. It's 100% complete, just over 100,000 words. I will post updates once a week, although probably not on Sundays. I just didn't want to wait until Monday to post. First time Stranger Things fic, not first time at the rodeo. Also I will never write alternating POV like this EVER again. It was a real pain in the ass at certain points (mostly when they fuckin, my god).
> 
> [twitter @missraygillette](https://twitter.com/missraygillette) I tweet about things I'm working on. Come love these stupid boys with me.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve takes a tumble in the waves.

No one in Hawkins could afford to fly to California. No one besides them, but Steve isn’t thinking that with his face plastered to the window. The reds and browns of the desert, the rolling peaks of the west, flatten far below him without warning. And wherever there’s flat land, there are streets and houses. Buildings on a grid with cars lined up at lights, surely honking and cutting people off to try and get just a little bit ahead. His parents murmur quietly to each other as perfect stewardesses bustle about, preparing the cabin for landing. Steve almost wishes he had a camera like Jonathan’s. Or even knew how to use one, really, because the Earth rushing up to meet them is beautiful this high. Nancy would love it.

She should be here. That’s his thought as the plane touches down, whole interior shaking with the friction of the landing gear on asphalt at last. The rest of his junior year should have gone off without a hitch. No missing kids. No monsters. Just… him and Nancy enjoying what time they have left until he graduates next year in June. All through their relationship since Christmas, though, they’d been… rough. Speaking of kids and monsters, the one who will never return from this tragedy is Barb. And while everyone at school had moved on, Nancy was stuck like a rock in a stream. Nancy doesn’t say anything about what happened, but he knows she’s still twisted up about Barb. It’s a sore spot behind all her smiles, and he watches her press it until she can’t look at him anymore. Why does she do that?

So, as the months had dragged on, their relationship weighed with that soreness. When he left this morning, Nancy didn’t even seem upset. She told him to “have fun,” even. Reminded him that they should work on his college application essay when he gets back. That’s what this vacation is all about, right? Whatever his parents called it… His “last hurrah” before his senior year starts, and then college, and then the rest of his life. Steve snorts under his breath and uncurls himself from the window seat, finally standing after hours. Sure, a “last hurrah.” More like the last moment of peace between him and his parents before they find out he’s not going to college.

His parents are shuffling, blurry specks in front of him as he mulls it over. It’s a decision he’d made while lying awake one night, unable to trust the shadows in the corner of his room. That’s been an issue since November, but it’s easier not to talk about it. It’s easier to worry about college, about how he’s not good at school, about how desperately he doesn’t want to go. And so now, as a reward for all that worrying, he gets to spend time in California, sand and waves, and dread that moment to come.

Why does he have to be thinking about this shit while on vacation?

He’s in the backseat of a taxi, beside his mother, before he knows it. He scoffs under his breath and turns blank attention to the airport racing away, urban jungle swallowing it up. His parents prod him a bit, asking in distant voices if he’s excited, what he’ll do when they get to the hotel. The sun and surf are all on a silver platter, but what he wants is back in the sticks, back in Hawkins. Well, it is and it isn’t, he supposes. It’s too much thinking on a good day, way too much on vacation. Exhaling long and with his eyes closed, Steve tries to shake that murkiness away and turns a dopey grin on his parents. It’s what will assuage them. Head-in-the-clouds Steve. Not much going on behind his eyes. Elevator music. It’s easier.

Their hotel spills out onto a beach. They don’t arrive until the sun paints the west in oranges, but that’s plenty to just wander around on the sand, let the waves lick at him. Steve’s hands are home in his pockets as he sweeps all his circling thoughts under the rug. To enjoy the squish of sand under his feet, water rushing past his toes, the wind trying to pull him off the shore… They all play a comfortable background to his stroll and the friendly smile he aims at people who acknowledge him. The weather is gorgeous, water warm and inviting. Maybe floating in all that ocean can help drown his thoughts. Tranquility and all that shit.

One jog back to the hotel and change of clothes later, Steve flicks out a towel on the beach. Far enough away from other people for privacy but close enough so he doesn’t get turned around. He eyes the lumbering spire of the hotel one last time before turning to the edge of the world. The waves extend farther out than any lake or sheltered cove he’s swum in. It’s not his first brush with the ocean, if his experience as a five-year-old counts. In floaties. Under the direct, physical supervision of his mother or other family member. So it’s with that confidence in hand that Steve strides for the smooth, dark stretch of water between the crashing waves. No sense in getting water up his nose from them beating against him, right?

From their perches on beach towels and chairs, no one pays him any mind. He’s just another body on the sand. Aviators with a gold mirror catch the sunset beaming on the coast and reflect it right back. Behind them are the only eyes that spare Steve an instance of attention. They take in the gangly, eager way Steve goes climbing over breaking waves, follow him until water laps at his navel. It’s that dark, smooth water that holds his attention. A snort pops out of a slim nose, and then the observer shuffles in his chair.

“Don’t swim there,” Billy purrs under his breath. “Fucking tourist.”

And even though Steve’s feet are still under him, still grounding him to the sand, it won’t take much to sweep him off his feet. The longer he lingers in the rip, the more likely it is to overpower him and drag him out. And an idiot tourist like that? Billy glances down the beach to seek out the nearest lifeguard tower. This moron in the water is gonna need one unless he somehow doesn’t end up ass over tea kettle into the ocean. The moment Billy sits up to get a better view, a startled yelp echoes over the sand. There’s no lifeguard at the top of the tower. And the tourist is floundering in the rip.

“Unbelievable,” Billy grumbles, already kicking his sandals off, tossing his sunglasses on his chair.

The Pacific is a chilly punch to Billy’s chest when he first crashes into the water. The current will help him glide farther out to sea to hopefully stop this idiotic tragedy unfolding. A flotation device of some sort would be helpful as he keeps an eye above water, arms pumping to get him out there faster. Steve is likely to pull anyone helping him under in his panic to get his head above water. Maybe he won’t, but it’s not a risk Billy will take. Not for some stranger, anyway. With Steve flailing against the current and Billy working with it, they meet in the middle in no time. Billy spits water out of his mouth, waits for them to bob up in a swell, and then yells over the static of the ocean.

“Hey! Stop struggling!”

Sputtering barely above water, arms scrambling helplessly, Steve gets out, “Help!”

“Stop struggling and you’ll help yourself.” Billy scowls and rolls his eyes. “Take a fucking breath and chill out. You’re fine.”

“I’m not. Fucking. Fine!” Steve squeaks between spits of salt water. He can’t even be embarrassed about his voice cracking. Air is too precious.

“Take a chill pill and float on your back.”

“Huh?”

“Float, dipshit. I’m here, aren’t I? You’re not gonna drown, so just float.”

Steve’s mouth still can’t get above water often, but still he sputters quietly to himself, “Float, right sure, it’s just that easy, just float!”

Before Billy shows his teeth, though, Steve must figure it out. Or some part of him figures it out, the reptilian part of his brain that only understands life and death. And doesn’t particularly like the latter. He’s shivering like it’s January in Hawkins and can’t quite tell if he’s actually cold or just exhausted. The ocean continues to pull them out, a gentle drag on his body now that he’s not kicking and punching for his life. Steve sends a panicked, wild-eyed glance around his world of mostly sky. That guy is still here, treading water with him and frowning at him. 

They bob to the peak of a wave, and then Billy asks at the trough, “What’s your name?”

Steve blinks with his head cocked as much as the water allows. His eyes already sting plenty.

“What?”

“What’s your name?”

His voice is a little softer, now. Not so sharp with an edge of impatience to it. Steve blinks a few more times and has to remember the question and the answer. They rise like a gasp of air through water.

“Uh, Steve. I’m Steve.”

“Steve, huh?” Billy would pop off a little laugh if they weren’t being swept out. Of course his name is Steve. Fits his airy head nicely enough. Instead, Billy tries to sound bored. “Well, where you from, Steve? Not here, that’s for sure.”

A tentative grin with a good hint of shame curls Steve’s lips.

“A little town in Indiana… Is it obvious?”

Billy does huff a laugh at that. And he can’t help the smirk.

“Yea, little bit. Especially considering you’re the only one playing in the rip current, so.”

“... Bad Steve?”

Billy snorts again, tosses a look skyward, and then treads water closer.

“Anyway, Steve, we’re out of the strong part of the rip. We’re gonna swim parallel to the shore and then make our way back in. Think you can do that?”

Steve hesitates through a nod and supplies, “I can swim…”

“Let’s get a demonstration of that, little mermaid. Keep up!”

Billy turns on a side and kicks himself away. He flicks a glance down the watery line of his body at Steve, beckoning him to follow.

He isn’t shivering anymore. When had that gone away? Steve nods in the waves and does as Billy. “Keep up” must not be a fast pace. Steve expected a race, truthfully. Blue eyes keep watch over him as they go, even though Steve pants with each pulse of his legs. Once they’re neck and neck, silence thick over them, Steve stumbles over a laugh to break it.

“Hah, little mermaid… Is that from something?”

A slick eyebrow flicks up at Steve.

“What grade are you in?”

“Uh… I’ll be a senior in September.”

Billy scoffs, “Me too. So what, they don’t have you read Hans Christian Andersen in A Small Town, Indiana?”

“What?... Uh, it’s Hawkins, and I don’t know… Probably? Reading is uh…”

A hum and smirk and then, “So what sport do you play, tough guy?”

Steve’s easy smile slips some.

“Why… do you wanna know?”

“Cuz it gives you something to think about other than the current,” Billy drolls with a snort. “So you gonna keep talking to me or not?”

Steve considers it for a few kicks of their legs. Yea… He is calmer now. Shit, he’d dunked himself so many times just a minute ago, arms pumping and waving like they could save him. How did this guy know immediately what was happening?

“Um, basketball… Who are you?”

Billy huffs with a smirk, and then his body goes topsy turvy. He stands on the bottom of the beach with water lapping at his clavicle. His clavicle and broad shoulders… and muscles… What high schooler looks like this?

“I’m Billy, and you’re back to shore.”

Steve flounders and sucks down his last mouthful of salt water. Hopefully his last mouthful. A swing of both legs under him sends his toes to scrape through sand. He doesn’t even mind that it stings a little, just grateful to have something solid under him. The distance to dry land must not satisfy Billy, though. Steve’s shoulder nearly sings under Billy’s hand as the blond drags him that much closer, out of the water. Steve stumbles coughing and gasping for Billy to slow down, to let go, man. But Billy has the shoulders and back of a bull and hauls his ass straight to the sand. The force of it all leaves Steve breathless on his back, waves washing up cold under him.

Hands on his hips and bent to shade Steve, Billy stares down and shakes his head.

“Now, I hope you’ve learned your lesson, Stevie, about the ocean and how to respect it.” He points a finger at the grimace on Steve’s face. “Don’t play in rip currents. Got it?”

Steve grumbles through his scowl, remembering Tommy H’s taunts last year. 

“My name’s Steve. Not ‘Stevie.’”

Billy rolls his eyes and turns that accusing finger into a firm hand, offering Steve help to his feet. 

“Whatever you say, dude. Just watch yourself next time.”

Steve doesn’t need his legs under him to push himself up. Billy does all that, and with water still slicking him up shiny and golden, Steve catches the play of muscles in that bicep. When he gets fully to his feet, still staring, he finds that… Billy is? Like barely an inch shorter. He notices because he stumbles with their hands still clasped like a fight, like they have something to prove.

Steve stumbles on the sand and tips on his toes until he’s in Billy’s face. He doesn’t meant to, doesn’t like the jut and tilt of Billy’s chin like he’s ready for a fight. He’s grinning for a fight, eyes intense on Steve’s face and licking his lips. The beach sort of disappears while they’re in each other’s space. Between them, Billy still has him by a hand. It’s warm, firm and soft at the same time. 

“Billy, where the hell did you go? Who’s this?”

A weedy, little redhead girl whines at them. She distinctly reminds Steve of Nancy’s little brother when he starts running his mouth. Getting an attitude like he’s hot shit. Billy scowls and takes his hand back. Doesn’t even throw it like Steve expects. As Billy turns to the girl, Steve shakes his hand out. The bones ache a little, and when he flexes his fist, he still feels the imprint of Billy’s strength on him. 

“Watch your mouth, shitbird. What did I tell you?”

She rolls her eyes instead, a perfect copy of Billy’s, and scoffs, “Whatever. We’re supposed to be back before dinner, you know.”

Billy waves her away like he can dismiss her before turning back to Steve. That spark of a fight is gone from blue eyes—so piercing below a drenched curl in his face, how are they so bright?—and angles a different sort of grin at Steve. They’re still in each other’s space, and Steve does a little half flinch, half leap to restore that space. Billy’s grin deflates maybe just a bit, but he’s still all teeth and suggestive eyebrows. Why does his whole face grin like that, jaw waggling like he’s got something to chew out with Steve? He doesn’t know where to look on Billy’s face and so stares at the redhead stomping away. 

“She uh… she’s leaving.”

Billy shrugs. 

“Fuck her, she can’t tell me what to do.”

“That’s a little harsh, man. Sounds like she was just trying to keep you out of trouble.”

That shuts down Billy’s grin completely. His face snaps into a scowl. His fingers twitch through the motions of rolling a cigarette around, and he wishes he had one. Knocked out of his daze now that Max crashed his party, Billy sends a long look up and down the other teenager. Billy gets the distinct feeling, a sort of acidity in his stomach like he’s eaten something bad, that he normally wouldn’t get on with this guy. There’s something about the mild annoyance sitting in the center of Steve’s face that makes Billy think “bitchy.”

He watches Steve huff, throw his shoulders around, and then drag a slim hand through his hair. It throws the length over Steve’s right ear, frames his face even though the strands are still wet-black and slick. Steve does it once more and then crosses his arms over his chest, one hip cocked out. He’s a bit of a square, and Billy can just as easily imagine his knuckles punching that cheek as well as petting it. It’s not exactly a safe thought to have. 

“Anyway, pretty boy, I gotta get going.” He watches Steve’s annoyance break with embarrassment at the nickname. Before it evaporates completely, Billy seizes some brazen bravery and reaches up to clap Steve’s cheek. Just a pick double pat, tap tap, and then he steps away with a cackle on his lips already. “Remember to stay out of those rips! Unless you wanna be rescued again.”

He finishes with a wink over his shoulder. Billy’s gaze lingers burning and hot on Steve until he gets what he wants. And what he wants is Steve’s sputtering indignation, the pretty bow of his lips flapping as he scrambles not to let Billy have the last word. Too late, though, as Billy holds on to his grin and struts away. He can’t know without turning around if Steve watches him as he goes. He hopes Steve does with a hot ball of something eager and violent in his throat. He hasn’t felt like that in months. 

With no one to spit his annoyance at, Steve frowns at Billy’s back. Kicks a foot through sand when Billy doesn’t look back, just returns to his chair to start clearing out. The little redhead girl has her sandals on, towel draped over her shoulders. Steve watches through squinting eyes as she says something with attitude blatant on her face, in the wiggle of her head. Billy snaps something back at her with his jaw tight and clenched teeth even tighter. That gets her to recoil, and Steve’s annoyance turns to anger. They’re obviously related somehow. Billy shouldn’t treat her like she’s a cockroach. 

But it’s none of his business, and he’ll probably never see them again. They’re locals, if their golden tans and confidence navigating the beach say anything. Billy more brilliant than Max, but who looks at little middle school girls. Not Steve. His narrowed gaze is all on Billy for… what? Like he’s gonna step in if Billy goes too far and starts yelling at the girl, maybe takes a swing at her? Billy would have him face down in the water as a floater with barley a sweat. Steve knows in the way his hand still hurts a little. How his shoulder is sore from Billy yanking him to his feet. Billy is crazy strong, maybe even a little crazy. That doesn’t stop Steve from watching Billy until the pair disappear over a sand bank, gone for good. 


	2. Pretty Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve takes a stroll and gets lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided to update on Wednesdays to give people something to read in the middle of the week. You know. To get you to your next fix.
> 
> Anyway, with this story completed, I'm working on a fem Harringrove one next. Sorry if it's not your cup of tea. At the time of posting this update, it's sitting at 30,000 words and looks to be another doozy. So if you like fem Harringrove, keep at eye out, yea? Remember, I tweet about what I'm working on. So if you want teasers, you know where to go.
> 
> [twitter @missraygillette](https://twitter.com/missraygillette) I tweet about things I'm working on. Come love these stupid boys with me.

The night crawls in thick through the window, ocean breeze humid and loud even at night. Every shadow has a sound and smell. Whining noises like a car refusing to turn over. And each time brown eyes shutter, that breath is on his face. Has Steve slept at all? He blinks up at the ceiling and thinks not. At least it’s cooler than it would be in Hawkins. The ocean sucks all the heat from the land and tussles the trees with a breeze. It’ll probably be a sticky morning. Whenever it comes. Steve sighs for the last time, tenses, and then rocks into a sitting position.

His parents had holed up at the spa connected to the hotel when he came back at sunset. They left him some spending money, enough to sit in the restaurant also connected to the hotel. Or go out and wander. He opted for neither, leaving the money on the little table in their suite and hogging the bathroom instead. To wash the ocean and shame, the irritation off him. Billy may be gone, nothing more than a dull ache in Steve’s hand and an embarrassed flush high on his cheeks, but that doesn’t stop Steve from thinking about him. Even now, throwing a t-shirt over him in the dark.

“Man, that guy was an asshole,” Steve whispers to no one. Even here, at least a thousand miles from Hawkins, he doesn’t trust that there’s no one here. His sleeping problem doesn’t care that he’s in California. “Fuck this.”

The scratch his parents had left him is still on the table when he exits his room. He has no idea what a hotel room like this costs, a living room sort of area connecting two bedrooms. It’s something the kids at school would tease him about. Or admire him for. While making sure the hotel room door shuts behind him, Steve can’t decide which idea he hates more. It has almost been… refreshing to talk to another teenager who didn’t think of him as King Steve. Steve “The Hair” Harrington. Billy just saw him as some moron on the beach who decided to swim in the most dangerous spot possible. But still Billy dove in and saved him anyway.

But then after that… What had that all been about? Steve shoves his hands into shorts and shuffles down the sidewalk. Sandals gently paddle the soles of his feet with each stride. They provide a plasticy flap, flap as the background to his swirling thoughts about Billy. No one’s ever looked at him like that before. Sure, he’s been in a scrap or two, knows that hotblooded rise of adrenaline that sort of hazes and slows your vision. He saw it in Jonathan when the guy swung from the hip and bopped him one. Seen it in Tommy’s eyes all the time since choosing Nancy over him and Carol. But not like in bright, blue eyes. It was something else. Something different.

Sighing and stopping at a crosswalk, waiting his turn, Steve runs clammy hands over his face and hair while whispering, “This is stupid, he’s just an asshole, just don’t think about it, it’s stupid, it’s stupid.”

A pair of cars racing on the straightaway nearly blow him over when they scream by. The horn from one would have sent him jumping like a cat, if he weren’t already a few inches off the ground. The empty street echoes his frustrated yell. Frustrated that he’s thinking about Billy, frustrated that he can’t sleep, frustrated at every other little thing. And does every damn store and diner close at sundown in this place? Walking or driving the streets at Hawkins suits him fine. It’s his town. Here, though? He’d rather get off the street sooner than later. A hole-in-the-wall place with a flickering, dull neon sign draws him in. It’s all he’s seen in ten minutes of walking.

He sticks out even with only two other people at tables. Two older men sit slouched in jeans or jean cut-offs, white t-shirts gone grey with sweat or grease. The ocean and sun have burned them both in the faces, rosy goldness and wrinkles. He offers an uncertain smile that just labels him even more of an outcast than his khaki shorts and stupid t-shirt with a breast pocket. There’s no collar to tug at, so Steve just palms the back of his neck and sits as close to the door as possible. A middle-aged woman just as sunny and wrinkly as the men approaches him from the other side of the bar, slaps a menu down in front of him.

“Breakfast starts in 30 minutes, honey. Have some coffee while you wait if that’s what you want.”

Waiting that long sounds tempting, especially while imagining pancakes and hash browns. But he’s hungry now, not thirty minutes from now, so he settles on a burger instead. It arrives piled high, bigger than he can open his mouth. Who is their market for this? Steve turns as if to make a face to Nancy next to him, just to hear her laugh, but just the door is there. He deflates a little and goes about trying to keep his greasy burger together in slippery fingers. 

The food blocks him from thinking for a little while. He distracts himself with useless observations of the burger, the décour… the weird smell in here. Like the mop water is dirty or something. Steve tucks his feet off from the red tile of the floor and curls up on the barstool instead. Maybe jeans or slacks would have been a better idea, once he starts shivering a little. At least that way the backs of his thighs, right above his knees, wouldn’t stick to the chair. 

They’re all minor complaints once the food runs out and he’s soaking up grease with napkins from his fingers. Without food to occupy him, he’ll start thinking back on how this place kinda smells like that thing. Damp and vaguely sickly. Steve grimaces through tucking a $10 under his plate instead of waiting for the waitress to take it and hand him change. Outside doesn’t seem much better, but there’s no safety anymore. Nowhere is safe. 

Out on the streets again, Steve makes a modest attempt at outrunning his racing thoughts. Maybe if he takes off fast enough he can leave them behind. Sandals aren’t the best thing for this, darting into the strange night. He almost trips and eats shit so many times. How hasn’t he rolled his ankle? But he keeps running until he has to stop. The ocean is a dull roar to his left. The night around him is still. 

Where is he?

Scratching a shaky hand through sweaty hair, Steve turns around. Hmm… Which hotel are they staying at again? It hadn’t seemed like such a hard thing to keep track of during his brief wandering for food and blind comfort. But now that he’s torn ass down the beach and isn’t sure of a name or color of building, well…

“Well, shit.”

Would it be a pain in the ass to just walk into every hotel along the beach and? Ask if they have Harrington, party of three down for two weeks? Steve rubs both hands over his face and through his hair. Well… at least he isn’t far. And he has a little bit of money. Not like nearly enough to book a room of his own as an ultimate admission that he fucked up. Maybe walking the beach like a bum will spark some recognition. You know, when the sun rises, because he’s only ever seen the back of the hotel in daylight. And he wasn’t paying that good of attention. 

“Shit,” Steve sighs, every hour of his waking dragging his shoulders down. 

From behind him, the way he’d been running, the rattling growl of a muscle car shocks him like an outlet. When and how it crept up on him, he isn’t sure. Panic is a distracting, deafening emotion. Steve’s whole body flinches and twists up until he has to catch his feet under him again. Headlights beam down the street, a little in Steve’s eyes. Even a hand cupped in front of him to block it doesn’t really help. The glare from the street lights blocks the windshield anyway. 

The muscle car rolls down the street, slow and purposeful so it doesn’t pass him entirely. Steve stumbles back a step with his fingers still cupped over his eyes. The passenger window is down. Inside, the driver sits in jeans that are too tight in the thighs and crotch, shirt tucked in but only two of the bottom buttons done. Dirty blond hair spills in front of Billy’s blues when he bends a little, grinning over the center console. 

“Hey, little mermaid. What brings you to shore so late tonight?”

Steve gives a bodily groan, head thrown back and eyes rolled. Why Billy. Why did it have to be Billy. Like he hasn’t spent enough of the night thinking about the jerk. Sighing and righting himself, Steve slumps towards the open passenger window. Billy stays all curled up around his open shirt to keep his heavy stare on Steve. It’s not an easy thing to meet, so Steve braces his arm on the body of the car and leans in. This way he can stare somewhere vaguely near Billy’s face but not meet his eyes. 

“Can’t sleep,” Steve says with a shrug and pucker of his lips. Like it’s no big deal. “It’s whatever.”

Billy reels in his hungry grin and replaces it with an easy smirk and hum. 

“Yea? Life got you down in A Small Town, but you still can’t sleep in”—Billy flicks a hand to the sketchy businesses and dirty streets—“paradise?”

Steve’s lips tick through a tight grin that’s at least half grimace. 

“Yea, pretty much. So what, you-you live in paradise and can’t sleep either? What gives?”

Just like earlier when Steve had pointed out reality, Billy’s mirth diminishes. He sniffs hard and scoffs to cover up how it’s annoying Steve won’t play along. Won’t play back. 

“Yea, well, it’s dangerous to walk around here at night. So either go back to your hotel or get in.”

When Steve stands there blinking at him, Billy has to hold it in. It being another wide grin, one that would give him away. Steve is kind of an airhead, but he seems like a decent guy. Definitely a guy Billy would pick a fight with, just to see if he could get that scarlet on Steve’s face really going. He doesn’t dwell over the fact he’s just invited a virtual stranger into the Camaro, to drive Steve around wherever. 

“Uh, funny thing about that.” Steve’s shameful smile from the rip current returns. He doesn’t even consider Billy’s offer. “I, uh, I got turned around a little while walking. I don’t really remember…”

Billy exhales and tries not to mutter a deep, “Oh my god,” under his breath. Instead he sucks in a deep breath that has him arching under the steering wheel. Like he can’t get enough. The exhale is loud, and the car shakes a little when he drops his weight back into the seat. When he looks to Steve again, Steve’s shame has dissolved into a disapproving grimace. Billy just smirks at him. 

“Okay, so”—he stretches over the center console, the seat, and tugs the handle. The door pops open against Steve’s slim hip—“hop in and we’ll get out of here.”

“‘Get out of here’? You mean like go somewhere? I mean, buddy, my hotel is like right along this strip somewhere.”

“Good luck finding it in the dark.”

He has a point. Steve grumbles through his next breath and rips the passenger door open. He sweeps into the car, misjudging the deep, bucket seats of the Camaro for his more ergonomic BMW. His hip stings where it knocks into the center console. Steve keeps his hiss of pain to himself and yanks the door shut behind him. Something in the frame groans, but Steve doesn’t pay it any mind. He shoots an unhappy, pinched look Billy’s way. But Billy only stares at him like Steve has agreed to something ridiculous, like traveling the world in an air balloon… Although that could be interesting. 

Billy takes another breath, and the rush of something other than his cologne and cigarettes shocks him back to life. Steve watches him with his upper lip going flat, curling maybe a little at the corners. Like Billy is weird or something. Billy sits up straight, but then just as quickly slouches back down. Play it cool, right? Grin crackling over his lips and left hand drumming on the steering wheel, Billy lets out a holler while flooring it, letting first gear ride all the way to red, holding it there, and then hollering again when the transmission jars into second.

Steve can’t help it when he grips the open window for dear life and curls his legs up from the floor mat. He tries to yell something, maybe, “Hey man!” over the engine and Billy. But the wind sucks his voice right out of the cabin and into the night beyond. When Billy does let up, transmission popping hard when it manages to gear up, Steve shakes his head in mild disgust. He’s never so rough with his car, even when he’s having a little bit of fun, blowing of a little bit of steam. Billy drives the Camaro like he stole it, and that idea is enough to get Steve worried he’ll be caught with this lunatic.

“Slow down, man, come on!” Steve tries again to holler over the engine. “You’re gonna wipe out and kill us!”

“Not a chance,” Billy says to the windshield with a glance at Steve. Cute thing curled up like his legs could stop the engine block from pinning him if Billy fucked up tonight. “Haven’t crashed yet, never will. Gotta know how to handle the ride.” Billy draws his hands around the steering wheel, making sure to circle it with his fingers and drag his palms hard. Pretty Bambi eyes follow his hands all according to plan, and Billy grins harder. “So, what do you drive? Japanese? German?”

Steve blinks, shakes his head a little, and blurts, “What? Uh, I drive a BMW. So I guess German? Right?”

Billy’s scoff this time is one of genuine disappointment. Holding the wheel with his left hand, Billy flicks a hand to the radio to poke a cassette into the deck. The speakers blare to life once the tape rolls, picking up wherever he smashed the eject button last time. The stark electric guitar solo at the beginning of Boston’s “Smokin’” startles Steve right as he’d decided lowering his legs was safe. Billy drapes his right wrist over the steering wheel and cups a laugh with his left, turns his head to the window for good measure. Is the radio up too loud? Probably. Billy won’t turn it down just so he can keep watching Steve squirm and grumble in his peripheral vision. He’s too cute.

‘Careful, Hargrove,’ Billy thinks lowly to himself. ‘Baby doll here is a country boy. No way he’s anything but straight. And a tourist to boot. Cool it.’

Sniffing, Billy sits up enough to twiddle with the volume knob, showing Steve some tiny mercy. At least he stops gripping the sides of his seat and wincing, pressing himself as deep as he can to escape the loud music. Billy watches him relax with a gasp and an annoyed noise angled his way. Billy just winks and snatches his cigarettes from near the ashtray. Pack gripped in the fingers of his driving hand, Billy splits his attention between the road and jamming a finger into the cigarette lighter. While glancing between the two, Steve gripping the crank of the window, preparing to roll it up, catches Billy’s attention.

“I wouldn’t bother with that if I were you,” Billy warns, both wrists on the wheel while his fingers pluck at the cigarette pack. “All the smoke will get trapped in here. Make you cough.”

And doesn’t that strike Steve as odd. Billy drives like hell, plays music loud enough to deafen him, but cares if the damn cigarette smoke bothers him. Steve tries to keep his head on straight while rolling the window back down the tiny amount he ever got up.

“No, man, it’s just cold is all. I ain’t wearing a jacket like you.”

Billy nods just as he pulls the cherry end of his cigarette away from the lighter. He jams it back into the dash above the radio.

“Check the backseat,” he mumbles around the filter. “I should have another jacket back there.”

Oh and wouldn’t that be grand if Steve actually takes him up on that? Wouldn’t it be grand to hold that bit of the collar that would touch Steve’s neck and just breathe him in? He’d have to press his open mouth to it to muffle a moan, if he did that. Billy shivers despite the jean jacket over him keeping the wind far from his golden skin.

‘Cool it,’ he warns himself, more sternly than before.

Steve is mindless to the little shuffle of Billy’s hips in his seat, the wider splay of his legs by the pedals. He shrugs with another tick of his mouth and twists at the hip to peak in the back seats. He slaps a hand into the hard plastic of the center console so he doesn’t go brushing Billy with his right shoulder. They’re already in each other’s bubbles like this. They don’t need to touch, no matter how nice the heat rolling off Billy is. If he strains hard enough, he thinks he can hear Billy breathing through his mouth, hear the wet swipe of his tongue over his lips. Steve shivers harder than before and flails his left hand in search for that hypothetical jacket. Supple leather meets his hand like a firm handshake.

“Oh sweet,” Steve breathes to himself. He reels the jacket in, between the seats, and then wastes no time feeding his arms in. “Hey thanks, Billy. I guess I should have grabbed a jacket when I left. Or just remembered the name of the damn hotel. I’m, heh, kind of an idiot.”

The word “damn” kicks out of Steve’s mouth while Billy still marvels over Steve saying his name for the first time. Steve insulting himself, though, rips him right out of that daze. Steve’s little self-deprecating laugh when he calls himself stupid tells Billy plenty. Billy’s right hand darts down to the volume knob like a viper, and he turns Boston down to a dull murmur. Steve jumps at the change and glances at him, leaning just a little bit away. And doesn’t that suck.

Frowning around his cigarette, Billy says, “You’re not an idiot. You just fucked up is all.” He plucks his cigarette close to his lips and thumbs the ash outside the window. On the cloud of his exhale, Billy continues, “Happens to the best of us, pretty boy. But we’ll figure it out in the morning. If I remember correctly, you walked right onto the beach today when the rip current took you out. So one of us is bound to remember where we were.”

Confused, Steve mouths “pretty boy” in a question as Billy continues talking. First “little mermaid” now “pretty boy?” Hadn’t Billy called him that earlier, too? Carol is pretty. Nancy is pretty. Boys aren’t… “pretty.” But as Steve turns his open confusion and insecurity towards Billy, he finally takes all of the other youth in. Billy has a wreckless style about him. Jeans too tight, shirt too open, hair too messy. But his face and his striking eyes? The way he grins around his tongue and looks like the devil himself? That’s pretty. And Steve sort of hates how looking at Billy makes him think “pretty.” Makes him angry about how much he looks at Billy and thinks about him. He’d never look at Tommy or any of the other boys on the team and think “pretty.”

“Whatever, still sucks.” Steve huffs and looks out the window, wind shoving his bangs off his forehead. “So where are we going anyway? You’re not, uh, gonna like kill me or anything, are you?”

Billy can’t help the curl of evil laughter that bubbles up from his chest. Just to see Steve roll his eyes and hold back a groan.

“You know,” Billy purrs with a smirk, “they never did catch that Zodiac guy. Or the East Area Rapist.”

“Yea, haha, funny. I think I’d know if you were either of those psychos, dude.”

If Billy is the one to see Steve as just Steve and not one of his monikers, then Steve is the person to see right through Billy’s entire persona. His carefully constructed attitude of being an asshole to all. His natural charm that usually sweeps people off their feet or under his wing. And for Billy in the driver's seat, it’s a little breathtaking. Red lips parted around aborted words, Billy scowls and frowns his way through a few emotions. This isn’t how he’d wanted Steve to play: seeing right through him and cutting so deeply. It’s sobering.

Billy shuffles his shoulders and sits up straight, lets the engine dip below 4,000 RPM. He can almost hear them breathe.

“You don’t know shit, Stevie,” he snaps. “And I’m taking you somewhere other night owls hang out. You can fuck off and do whatever until morning. I don’t care.”

Steve squints at the 180 degree change in Billy’s tone. All the smoothness and suggestive looks have melted away. Steve fucked it up somehow, pissed Billy off. What, just because he can tell Billy isn’t completely deranged? How is that something to get an attitude over? Steve mutters, “whatever,” to himself and slumps against the passenger door. Maybe Billy will stop and let him out somewhere. He’ll hoof it back to the shore. Billy just keeps driving away from the waves and the twinkling lights of the city, into the hills and up high. There’s a barrel on fire at the top of a hill, end of the dirt road. Three people cluster around it, one catching sight of them first and lighting up in excitement. Steve lingers in his seat, full of hesitation, even when Billy kills the engine and slams the door shut. What now?


	3. Wild Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billy introduces Steve to his friends Tyrone, Miguel, and Diamond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey to the three people reading this. What's up. Anyway, enjoy the update. Billy got it baaaaad.
> 
> I'll probably 90,000 on that fem Harringrove fic today. If not today then tomorrow. How could this happen to me? I made my mistakes? Got nowhere to run, but! The night goes on.
> 
> [@missraygillette](https://twitter.com/missraygillette) I tweet about things I'm working on. Come love these stupid boys with me.

Billy already has a hand out for Miguel, Tyrone, and Diamond when he saunters into the flickering light of the fire. Surely one of them has a joint or a beer. He needs to calm down after the drive. Miguel and Tyrone draw him in with grins, Miguel patting his back for their chest bump and Tyrone trying to knock him on his ass with a forceful pump of his hips. It’s nothing new. Diamond refuses his hand and plays with his hair instead, squeezes his face. Billy is the one to nudge him away and cough, gesturing with a nod to Steve in the car.

“He’s a little rich boy from the Midwest, so cool it, yea?”

Diamond lays the hand against his own chest, aghast.

“What?” He crows, heavy and high on the ‘a’. “It wasn’t like I was about to blow you in front of him or anything. And why are you touting around a little closet reject like that.” Diamond peeks above the curls of Billy’s mane. He adds as an afterthought, “Not that he isn’t cute, for a country bumpkin.”

Country bumpkin is about right, but Billy doesn’t need any punches thrown and Steve having his ass beaten over some bullshit homophobia. Or worst some race shit.

“He’s a tourist,” Billy hisses under the gentle thump of Steve finally unfolding from the Camaro, door shutting with respect. Billy appreciates that as a brief thought. “I’m not saying he’s a gay basher or anything. I wouldn’t hang with someone like that.”

Diamond hums with a thoughtful hand stroking his chin. His black five o’clock shadow isn’t coming in yet to clash with that stark, white hair of his.

“You might if he’s that cute, just look at him.”

Miguel and Tyrone share a look even as Billy hisses, “I said cool it, all right?”

Diamond takes a delicate step from around Billy and hums under his breath, “Sure, honey, whatever you say. He’s already got you whipped anyway.”

And Billy would groan, but Steve already looks like a deer in headlights as Diamond sashays over and offers his hand all delicate like. Diamond is the one to sweep an arm behind Steve and drag him into the light. Literally if the dust puffing up from Steve’s sandals scraping the dirt mean anything. He’s still wearing Billy’s leather jacket, something that Miguel and Tyrone share a glance over as they shake Steve’s hand. Billy pointedly avoids them.

“Anyway, Steve, these are… what you might call friends, but I call Tyrone, Miguel, and the court jester himself Diamond.”

“Excuse you?”

Steve glances to each face in the dark, wanting to laugh at the way this tall, weedy guy glares at Billy. He feels that camaraderie and nods to each. A tight ball dislodges from his throat when even Tyrone and Miguel return his nod. It’s not that he’s, like uncomfortable around minorities or anything. Okay, so he’s a little uncomfortable, but more over the worry he’s gonna say some stupid, hick racist shit. He thinks about all the times he’s stood there, awkwardly laughing with Tommy and Carol running their mouths. He doesn’t want to be that guy. He chose Nancy over them for a reason. He’s better than that.

“How, um, how are you guys doing? I’m, uh, on vacation…”

Steve winces at the end, and Billy eats it up. What a dork.

“He’s from Indiana, but he’s cool. Right, pretty boy?”

Steve groans, “It’s ‘Steve,’ man.”

“Oh, don’t mind him,” Tyrone says with a pointed look at Billy. Like he knows immediately what’s up. “He’s got a nickname for everybody. Be happy yours is a compliment.”

He and Miguel reclaim their spots around the burning barrel as Miguel snorts under his breath. Steve palms the back of his neck again and looks between Diamond and Billy, Billy already staring right at him. The wind buffeting the fire send wild shadows rolling over Billy’s face in portrait. His stare is somehow even more intense with his eyes glowing wet from the flames.

Diamond meets Steve’s eyes with a cheeky smile, reaches for his arms, and then pulls him into the inner circle. His touch doesn’t linger as he launches back into conversation. But Billy’s arm that sweeps behind him, low on his back, does. Billy guides him to a pile of stacked cinderblocks and then stands in the bubble of Steve’s warmth instead of taking his own seat.

The conversation bounces around to topics Steve has no knowledge of. Or doesn’t know enough to have an opinion, so he opts for silence. This feels too much like his first adventure at Thanksgiving from the kids table to the adults table at dinner. And he’d made a fool of himself then, so he desperately doesn’t want to, now. Especially after pissing Billy off at the end of the ride. All his hurt feelings seemed to have evaporated, though, because he sure is chummy at Steve’s side. Their jackets—well, really both of them are Billy’s, but—brush every time Billy switches which hip supports his weight. The cloud of his cologne and the smell of his car blanket Steve this close. It’s not until Tyrone reaches back into the darkness and pulls up a six pack in a plastic bag does Billy shuffle away.

“Hey Steve, you drink?”

“Of course he fucking drinks,” Billy snaps with Steve’s lips parted, about to agree. “You think I’d bring that big of a square here? You’re killin me, Ty.”

“Mmmhmm, anyway, Steve, you drink?”

“Uh, yea man, sure.”

Tyrone gives him a nod and then underhands a can to him. Billy fakes like he’s going to snatch it out of the air. Steve jolts off his ass and onto his toes to cradle the can like he would a pass at practice. He almost wants to stick his tongue out at Billy, but that might rile him up or stoke the weird fire between them. Why would he open himself to that?

“Dick,” Steve says with a single chuff of laughter. 

“Good catch,” Tyrone praises over the fire. “Be glad you didn’t let him steal that shit. He woulda shook the can and opened it on you, if he treats you the same as the last one. What his name? Anthony? Andrew? No wait, it was—”

“Shut the hell up,” Billy snarls, cheeks burning despite the stiff wind up here. Hopefully Steve can’t catch sight of it in the dark like this. “Low hanging fruit, man.”

Billy’s harsh retort, teeth snapping immediately, holds Steve’s attention. He’s missing something here, something Tyrone smiles heavy and warm about while Billy seethes. Some… inside joke or something. Or a reference that goes over his head. Tyrone drops it, though, and cracks the seal on his can. He holds it aloft and gestures to Steve. It’s an easy token to pay back, and Steve is happy to find the beer isn’t even that warm, yet. Tyrone must be keeping them on the other side of the cinderblocks he’s sitting on. In the shadows, away from the fire.

Steve nurses his beer and lets his gaze wander between the small crowd around him and the lights in the valley below. The ocean is an inky, impenetrable maw of darkness. If Steve stares for too long, he’ll convince himself of something that isn’t there. He opts to meet Billy’s eyes while Billy leans in to Miguel, listening to him softly murmur at Billy’s lobe. Something shiny dangles and catches the fire. Billy has an earring in that ear.

Steve has to stop himself from reaching up to feel the shell of his own ear. Pierced ear on a boy… That kind of stuff only happens to like rock stars and models. Right? Then again, what part of Billy doesn’t scream “rock star.” Or at least “drama queen.” Now that the sparkle at Billy’s ear has caught his attention, though, Steve can’t ignore all the new things about the people around him jump out. 

Miguel has tattoos crawling up his neck above his jacket, under the sleeves at his wrists. Tyrone has septum piercing. Steve wonders if it hurts more if you punch someone in the face with a piercing like that. It’s gotta hurt more. And Diamond is the most obvious, head to toe from his white hair, the make-up, everything. How could Steve ignore what looks like clothes picked up at a thrift store and then tailored to fit him, to look better than castaways. They’re a group so interesting and different from him and anything back home. He’s even more ashamed in his preppy clothes and Billy’s jacket. Because he’s an idiot. 

So when Diamond appears at his side with an easy smile, eyes a little bloodshot, and offers him a cigarette that’s distinctly not a cigarette, Steve takes it. It would be rude not to, right? Steve knows enough to hit it and pass it right back to Diamond, tries to turn away from him and Billy to cough. They don’t laugh at him as much as he expects. Diamond even coos something at him and offers a hand to rub his back. Steve is too busy trying to blink back wheezing tears to catch Billy pinching the back of that hand and stealing the place on Steve’s trembling back.

Diamond’s crow of pain is so muffled in Steve’s ears, like he’s wearing a few hats on top of each other. His head is a little too tight when he finally sucks down enough air to breathe. But it’s good. He goes all tingly behind his eyes and under his skin like he’s holding his breath. Oh shit, is he? Steve’s body rises under Billy’s jacket and Billy’s hand on top of that. No, no, he’s breathing. Hard to keep track. Billy is warm and chummy at his side, inviting himself closer to keep a hand on Steve. Over the curl of his fist catching his cough, Steve squints at Billy, breathless. 

“Take a drink and it’ll help,” Billy says with a wink, wiggling his own can. “And maybe don’t take a drag like it’s a cigarette next time.”

Steve shrugs Billy off him and wishes he had the coordination to stand, to get farther away from him. If he tries to stand right now, though, the ground under him will slosh like the ocean earlier and send him straight on his ass. And then Billy will be the one to haul him back up and touch him and be in his space… Steve can’t be held responsible for what happens in that hypothetical situation. 

Whatever was in the cigarette—weed and tobacco, whatever, he doesn’t care—is enough to take Steve’s awkward edge off. Billy keeps his hands to himself even though they itch to roam over the supple leather of his jacket, nice and warm on Steve’s shoulders. That uptight, bitchy look on Steve’s face melts into a squinty smile. Poor baby can’t even keep his eyes open. Billy snorts and brings his neglected beer back up. He’ll have to keep an eye on Steve, not that such a thing wasn’t already in his plans. Someone has to take care of him. 

Billy does nothing to stop the beer handed down like a relay race from Tyrone, to Diamond, and then into Steve’s shaky hands. He’s good enough to take the empty from Steve before he just drops it and litters. But otherwise he does nothing about Steve’s fingers pawing at the pull tab, how the beer foams up and little and Steve rushes his mouth to the opening. Billy would bless whoever’d started the fire so he gets to sit here and watch Steve’s mouth overflow and dribble some beer out the corner of his mouth. It’s filthy and gross, especially with Steve’s wrist weak when he goes to shove the beer off his chin. Frowning at the mess, Steve turns his squint on Billy. It’s a shame he’s too high to keep his eyes open. They’d look great in the fire like this. 

“What are you lookin at, man?”

Something trills in Billy like a cat arching into a caress. He grins and slips his ass off the cold cinderblocks next to Steve. 

“Just the biggest square I could have picked up, probably.” Billy can’t help himself when he gets a hand on Steve’s shoulder and just shoves. He ignores the amused look Tyrone and Miguel shoot him. Fuck them, they don’t know anything. “Is this your first time hanging out with people other than hicks? Don’t be so uptight, pretty boy.”

“Uhg man, do you have to like? Call me that? I have a name.”

Billy shoves him again, advances even when Diamond gives a lecturing, “Now Billy…”

“Shut up,” Billy snaps, too hot for it now, too hungry and twisted up inside, he wants Steve to shove him back so much, the uptight little fucker. “Come on, Stevie, can’t hang? Can’t take a joke?” He steps even closer until it’s just Steve’s shaking hands between them and the beer can. “You just gonna let me talk to you like this? Huh? You little bi—”

Someone moves Steve’s hand for him. Or something. He doesn’t really feel the power curling in his hip and launching his fist into Billy’s cheek. It’s a solid blow, one of his better ones really. Tyrone and Miguel hooting in his favor accompany that jam of knuckles and cheek, but Steve is too busy trying to corral the momentum. He almost spins around, following the trajectory of his fist. He watches through blurry eyes as Billy catches himself on the pile of cinderblocks. Falling over those would have sucked, and Steve already reaches out with the same hand to steady Billy. 

The hinge between Billy’s thumb and forefinger cradles the soreness in his jaw. There’s no blood, but he marvels at the way his hand shakes like there’s blood. Hot and alive, his heady stare zeroes in on Steve. He already looks apologetic, like someone else had delivered a basket of howdy-do to Billy’s face. It’s incredible and sends his spirit racing. Billy has both hands tangled in the collar of his own jacket, shuffling Steve back like they’ve got a basketball between them, before he drowns in that ecstasy. Now Miguel and Tyrone stand up, but he doesn’t care. It’s all about Steve right now. 

They pant in each other’s faces as Billy shoves them back and back. Steve almost loses his footing, but Billy is too strong for him to land on his ass. They find solid ground eventually, a rock outcrop overlooking this little clearing. The stones are dusty and sharp on the back of Steve’s head as Billy muscles his way against Steve’s thighs, into the last dregs of Steve’s personal space. When Billy stops posturing and rubbing against him, when they’re just heavy breaths and necks tense for a fight, they see themselves in the other’s eyes. 

“Honestly, Billy,” Diamond scolds again. He gets feeble, delicate hands between the boys and shoulders them apart. Billy has to be the one to give up. Otherwise, Diamond would just go slipping to the dirt. “Pick on the kid too much and he’ll think you like him or something. Pulling on his pigtails like that…”

Billy could strangle Diamond right now. Thinks about it with the heat of a fight still simmering in his vision. But Diamond just turns his nose up at Billy and sweeps Steve back to the fire, mumbling to Steve and patting dirt off his jacket. Billy’s jacket. Billy glares at their retreating backs and has to flex his fists to work out this unresolved tension. Stupid Diamond and his fucking mouth. 

Hands deep in his pockets, Billy stomps back to the fire, temper patted down for now. Diamond tries to catch his eyes, but he avoids them just as easily as he avoids Miguel and Tyrone. Instead, he watches Steve through a blond curl falling in his eyes. Steve squeezes his beer, somehow not lost in the scuffle, between his thighs. His hands are busy rubbing over the red knuckles of his right hand, shaking it loose a few times. Steve pouts at his hand, and then lifts his head to catch Billy’s guarded stare. 

“Hey…,” he mumbles through lips that don’t cooperate at first. Steve frowns and tries again, “Hey man, sorry. I shouldn’t have punched you. I’ve been… trying to work on that shit. Being a douchebag, or whatever. I’m sorry.”

It’s what Nancy would want. And what she wants is what’s best for him. Jonathan handing Steve’s ass to him should be the thing to remind him to not “be a douchebag or whatever,” but it’s easier to think about Nancy here, scolding him not unlike Diamond does with Billy. Diamond even smiles in the flickering light, waiting for Billy to meet Steve halfway and accept the apology. Maybe offer his own for being rough and mouthy. 

Billy scoffs around a grin and shrugs it all away. He rubs at his jaw when the laugh sparks a little twinge. Steve isn’t just a pretty face, he guesses. “Trying to work on that shit,” huh? There’s history there, and Billy wants to lift the cover on that history book, get into it and know it intimately… Fuck, he’s got it bad. His grin twists into a glare when he catches Tyrone and Miguel, two peas in a fucking pod, watching the exchange carefully. They know what he’s about. 

“Yea, well, it’s whatever. You got a mean right hook, wild thing, might actually be dangerous when you’re not a little wasted.”

Billy rocks back onto his feet, boots scraping loudly in the gravel. He turns to be closer to Steve, to get some of that wildness riled up again, but Steve leans away ever so carefully. And that sucks. So Billy lets it go and tries not to dig his fingers into how much that sucks. 

“Anyway, the sun will be coming up soon. Better sober up so we can figure out which hotel you’re in.”

“Hotel?” Tyrone and Diamond ask at the same time, Diamond curious and Tyrone suggestive. 

“You know you could just take him to Frankie’s,” Tyrone rumbles almost under his breath. He only means for Billy to hear it, and Billy sneers his way. 

“I said he’s a fucking tourist, Jesus,” Billy sighs. “He got lost wandering around and I picked him up. Give me a break.” He looks away from everyone while muttering, “Besides, I’m already sleeping at Frankie’s place. Not like he’s using it anyway.”

And Steve doesn’t know what to make of that. Thankfully for his ego, he knows he’d be just as confused without beer and weed. Going back to the beach and hotels sounds nice, though, so Steve doesn’t ask any questions. Not like Billy would let anyone answer anyway. He’d probably just yell over his friends until he got his way… Steve squints that much harder at Billy, marveling at how much of a brat he is. It just reminds Steve of how many times tonight he cursed Billy for being an asshole.

Billy hadn’t ratted Steve out for his poor performance on the beach today, though. They don’t need to know about Steve eating shit in the ocean and Billy saving him. And Steve actually opens his eyes wide enough to see Billy clearly and not through the splash of his eyelashes. It almost feels like a peace offering. 

Billy huffs and yanks his jean jacket tighter around him, shrugging to eat up room around him. He’s too restless like an animal pacing the cage to take Steve looking at him like that. Maybe driving Steve back to the beach and getting away from prying eyes that know his every trick will help him calm down. Yea, a nice, quiet, dark walk on the beach with Steve all to himself… He can’t fuck that up, right?

Goodbyes and parting touches over, like the four of them are friends or something, Billy ushers them back into the Camaro. Hopefully Steve won’t start getting curious about everything and run his mouth. Billy counts himself lucky when Steve slumps against the passenger door and nods off to the growl of the engine. And maybe Billy takes it easy down the hilly road back into the valley. Maybe he doesn’t brake check just to jolt Steve awake and fuck with him. Well, not until right at the end to announce they’ve arrived. He can’t help it. 

“Okay, wild thing, let’s comb this beach!”

It’s too late—or early, at this point—for someone to be so cheery. Steve groans against the cool plastic of the door as Billy bows from the car, slamming his door behind him. The car rocks for that one second, and Steve whines. He just wants to sleep. Billy is around the car and at Steve’s side in a few seconds. He gives the handle a tug like he’ll open it with Steve slumped there. Steve squints up at Billy’s mean grin, practically daring him to do it. 

“Come on. Up.”

Billy jiggles the handle again. The metallic scrape of it in the door drives Steve’s sleepy head away from the window. Maybe Billy should have rolled it up for Steve. His hair is all messed up now. Billy almost does something foolish when his hand twitches from the handle, so near and yet so far from Steve’s hair. He puts product in it, obviously, but is it still soft? Billy wants to find out more than anything, but he’s already been around with Steve tonight. Once more on the roller coaster of his emotions with Steve would be too much tonight. He’ll say or do something Steve might remember tomorrow morning. 

Billy is the one to lead them from the curb where he parks, over a sand bank, and then onto the beach proper. Steve trails behind, dragging his feet and stumbling. Two beers and a single hit off a spliff? Steve is either a lightweight and not the preppy, popular kid Billy thinks he is… Or maybe he’s just having a rough time with shit. Billy can attest better than the rest to keeping a happy face while dealing with heartbreaking shit. Tyrone just had to go and mention Frankie, like Billy can just ignore where he’s going to sleep tonight and why Frankie isn’t using his apartment. 

Steve lets out a pitiful noise behind him. By the time Billy tosses a glance over his shoulder, Steve is a pile on the sand. He forgets about Frankie and all that shit for now and turns all sweet and soft to Steve. Steve won’t remember this anyway. Billy murmurs low in Steve’s ear while squatting down to get an arm around him. Steve weighs every bit he should for being tall, and Billy grunts when he gets them both up. Gripping Steve around the loops of his shorts won’t work for long, so Billy drags him down the beach with a hand plastered over Steve’s hip. And if he rubs fingers against the sliver of skin between Steve’s shirt and his shorts, neither of them object. 

“So,” Billy says with a grunt, jostling Steve until his floppy head looks up. “We were about… here earlier.” He turns them towards the hotels to the right. Steve’s hip feels so right in his hand, but he has to focus. “So it’s gotta be one of these. Anything look familiar, wild thing?”

When Steve says nothing, just breathes heavy on Billy’s shoulder, Billy gives him a shake. His grin is almost adoring where it’s lost in Steve’s hair. It’s soft like he thought it would be. 

“You’re a… asshole, man,” Steve whines. 

It’s barely a protest. Billy just hums and squeezes Steve’s hip until it hurts. Until he’s pinching warm skin against bone hidden underneath. And damn doesn’t Steve smell good in Billy’s leather jacket. 

“Just a little longer, baby, I promise. You’ll be rid of me and you can sleep the day away.”

And he doesn’t mean it to come out so softly. Like he means it. They’re still stumbling in place with Steve’s weight braced on Billy’s hip. Every time Steve shifts a little, Billy has to go scrambling to keep him vertical. Steve leans heavier and heavier on Billy until he’s gritting his teeth. And then Steve looks up under the safe cover of his bangs and they’re so much closer than Billy thought. 

There’s no one on this stretch of beach this early. It’s just them and the ocean rolling back and forth. Without his bravado, Billy’s nerves come creeping in like terrible things scratching under a door to get him. He shouldn’t hold Steve like this, shouldn’t dart his ravenous gaze between Steve’s Bambi eyes and his stupid mouth. He’s liable to kiss them ruined and bloody, and he can’t. He shouldn’t. 

Steve’s face twitches as a whole. He’s busy staring back at Billy, but something digs into his thigh through his pocket. Something sort of sharp and metallic. Billy is plastered all to that side, is the one to press whatever sharp edges bite at Steve’s thigh. Steve grunts in Billy’s face and slithers a hand between them. He gropes for his own pocket, and Billy startles a little against him. But doesn’t let him ago. Steve blinks confused eyes, missing how open Billy’s expression is, and then jingles the keys he’s found. 

“Oh hey, the room key. I bet it says what hotel it’s from.”

Billy could just shove Steve face-first into the sand and suffocate him. Wants to, just a little bit. Instead he growls, yanks Steve harder to him, and marches for the line of hotels. And if he ends up dragging Steve more than walking him there, Steve doesn’t make much protest. Just whines a little more. It’s bedtime for someone, and all Billy has to do is play it cool with the front desk clerk and how she stares at him with a little disdain. Because of course Steve is staying at a nice hotel that doesn’t take too kindly to the unwanted snooping around. Now all Billy has to hope for is not waking up Steve’s parents when he dumps him here. 

Steve almost drops the keys to the carpeted hallway the first time. So Billy wrestles them away and takes over that, too. May as well strip Steve down and put him to bed—he won’t, even though it would be fun. Instead, Billy hauls Steve to the foot of the bed, gets him to stand on his feet, and then nudges Steve with a single poke to the center of his chest. He goes crumpling like a rag doll as Billy muffles a laugh with his teeth in his lip. When Steve doesn’t move, just breathes softly, Billy wrangles in some of that amusement. He takes measured breaths to keep himself cool while shuffling between the splay of Steve’s legs. 

A groan from Steve stops Billy in his tracks. He’s caught between Steve’s legs, but hopefully Steve won’t notice that, blinking blurry eyes up at him. And doesn’t he just look like a treat, like something Billy could sink is teeth and fingers into and tear himself off a little piece. Just a little bit, Steve won’t even notice. Billy’s balance shifts before he lets himself think about that, practically hovering above Steve. But Steve blinks big eyes up at him, shuffles his body to get comfortable, and holds Billy in a stare. 

“Hey Billy…”

Steve’s lips barely move to say that. He can’t wait to sleep, isn’t even sure Billy is real. At least the shadows in the corner of the room are slowly dying. It’ll be dawn soon. Billy looks solid above him with his expression free of scorn or a smirk. He looks… enraptured. Steve wonders what that’s about. 

“Hey Steve?”

Steve shuffles again, stomach going all weird and floppy when Billy murmurs his name right back. 

“Uh… I’m sorry. You’re not, like, always an asshole. I didn’t mean to… say that. And thanks for saving me earlier. I guess.”

That gets a smile out of Billy. Not one of those savage ones where he could snap his teeth and take a chunk out. It’s… sweet in the middle and all warmth in his eyes, tug of his lips so genuine... Steve frowns at himself, directing the look down his body. Billy isn’t warmth and sweetness. Not like that, not how he means. He needs to sleep so bad, needs to pay back the sleep debt he’d started in November. He’s starting to think crazy things.

He’s still not entirely sure Billy is real when the weight of him hovering disappears. Steve squints through the last, powerful waves of sleep before they claim him. This time, he won’t mind going under. He’ll wake up at some point and do this stupid bullshit all over again. At least Billy makes things interesting. With Billy, Steve forgets trapezing through Jonathan’s house, swinging for his life. For a little while. 

“Night night, baby,” floats over him, soft and fond. “I’m sure I’ll see you later.”


	4. Baby Doll

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve makes a discovery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, sorry this chapter is short. And the next one is short, too. When I was writing it, I wanted the chapters to be short? That seems to be the trend with this ship. But I'm about to blow that out of the water in like five more chapters oops. This is a slow burn, people, I'm sorry. I didn't enjoy it either lol.
> 
> I'm also finishing or almost finishing the fem Harringrove fic I'm working on. It'll be 130,000+ words of femslash so that should be fun for three of you reading this. It has... so much smut in it. 15 chapters and an epilogue and I think seven of those are just smut. Oops.
> 
> [@missraygillette](https://twitter.com/missraygillette) I tweet about things I'm working on. Come love these stupid boys with me.

The hotel bed is under him. How he’d made it back, Steve isn’t sure. Billy is jumbled up in his thoughts as he tries to remember. But the room is hot and the sun is insistent, so it’s hard to claw at those night-soaked memories. Of fire and new faces, of his knuckles connecting with Billy’s face. Steve groans face down in the bed and flexes his right hand. Yep, it’s a dull throb. So that had actually happened. The whole night, in fact. Groaning through a sigh, Steve smashes his face to the blanket under him. 

No, not a blanket…

A doe eye peeks open to find Billy’s leather jacket twisted under him. Billy must have forgotten about it. Steve snorts and lays his head right back down. It hurts too much to face the sunshine. He needs water. A shower. Something. The sweat sticking his clothes from last night cries out its favor for the shower. And when Steve goes to stretch, the first stretch of the day, he finds another reason to dive right into a shower. He rolls his eyes while rocking his hips into the bed, just to make sure.

“Just what I want,” Steve sighs.

Whatever. What’s a little morning wood? Who cares? He’s already sweaty and gross. May as well work for it. Steve finds one of his arms trapped in the jacket. He means to sit up and free himself, means to set the smelly thing aside and stop rolling around in it. Steve flops on his belly to scoop Billy’s jacket out from under him. Struggling with both sleeves still trapped somehow, Steve groans in defeat and slaps his head down. A muffled, “ow,” leaks around the lining of Billy’s jacket, practically in Steve’s mouth. He makes a face when he turns for air, considers setting himself to right, and then shrugs.

“Fuck it.”

The orientation of everything is weird. Not exactly optimal for his intentions. But it’s a novel exercise, to just roll his hips against this strange bed he doesn’t remember falling asleep in. Apparently he hadn’t needed the blanket still tucked impossibly tight under the mattress. Billy’s jacket was enough, at least until the burden of heat steamed him awake. Steve rolls his eyes at how he’s already damp in the soft spots of his elbows, behind his knees. Bangs welcome themselves to his forehead, and Steve bows his head to wipe them off with Billy’s jacket. The inside of it… doesn’t smell too bad. Different.

Eyebrows together and eyes closed, Steve tries to figure out what it is. Billy smokes and drinks, sure, so the collar is a little sour. It just collects the drunk and high sweat that beads at Billy’s neck, under that mane of hair.

Steve lifts his head at that, a quick jerk like he’s offended. His body is tight and ready, hips paused where he’d reared them back for another rut. This isn’t the right mindset. His lack of sleep is getting to him. And a headache from the heat, beer, weed, whatever. Steve shakes his hair out and leans his forehead into the bed. The silk takes his skin and sweat well, doesn’t make him hotter than he already is. Like this, he pops up on his knees spread wide to wiggle a hand under him. The first brush of trembling fingers over velvety foreskin, the heat of him under that, punches a gasp out of him. 

His knuckles ache as he strokes himself. They’re the same knuckles that kissed right across Billy’s cheek. Billy’s face has some good give. Billy’s neck has the right sort of bend as his head reared back. Shoulders playing neighbors to his ears, Steve clenches his teeth and shakes his head. No, no, all wrong again, fuck! Steve licks his lips a few times over, gathers his knees under him, and tries again. He has to kick his shorts and underwear off to get the sort of angle that feels right. Arching his ass up sends his shirt to slide up his chest. He’s thankful for the cooler air that flows down his back. 

“Mmm, Nancy,” he sighs.

Steve doesn’t mean to nuzzle the lining of the jacket. It’s just soft and smooth like Nancy’s hair. So it’s easy for him to turn his head all the way around and muffle his little noises in the collar. He has to stretch to do it, canting his ass higher, sliding his knees farther apart for leverage. Like this, Steve moves his whole lower half to meet the strokes of his hand. Will his arm fall asleep like this? Probably. He doesn’t think about that while gasping big mouthfuls of air. He may moan Nancy’s name, but something else is much closer to his shaking, bitten lips. 

It’s this damn jacket. Steve huffs a whine and snaps his hips into his hand. He doesn’t have a good reach like this, can’t watch how he plays with himself. But at least it’s easier to distance himself from his right hand. Maybe just… pretend like it’s someone else. Nancy would never go for something silly like this. She’d either have to be under him or on top of him. Steve gasps a little laugh into the jacket’s collar and rubs the mess at his head. No no, that’s a silly thought, Nancy behind him, on top of him like this. 

Steve’s shoulder, his left that takes the brunt of his weight, twinges against the mattress. It’s where Billy had grabbed him yesterday to haul him out of the ocean. Steve hisses in the safe bubble his chest makes above the jacket. Billy’s jacket. Steve turns his head to grumble all while tightening his hand, rocking his hips a different way to change the angle. He doesn’t mean to smear his lips over the leather as he pants through his mouth. It’s the leather that catches the tiny moan he lets out. 

Where the sourness of sweat and skin had bothered Steve before, now he finds it overwhelming. His back will ache from the way he arches into his hand, but he won’t stop now. His shoulder and hand ache; his lungs overflow with the heady smell of skin and salt and Billy. Steve’s trembling lips try to keep the peace, stutter over Nancy’s name even though she has nothing to do with this. It’s all Steve can do to keep from going crazy as his back shivers, imagination supplying him with the phantom pressure and weight of a firm body behind him. 

And isn’t that a slick, twisted fantasy? Enough to have everything between his legs jump. It almost hurts how he gushes in his hand, grip gone filthy and slick. Steve mashes his cheek into the jacket so he can turn his head and fucking take a breath. Billy’s cologne isn’t any less powerful like this. And Steve rocks there on his knees, almost on his chest with just his ass in the air. His fingers play cruel, tight games chasing around and around his head between strokes. Steve shudders in his own grasp and bucks a few times when his hand slows. 

No, no, not now, don’t stop now, it was so good, he needs this, just let him come, just let him, please, please. 

‘Hey there, little mermaid…’  
‘Pretty boy…’  
‘Wild thing…’  
‘Hey Steve?’

Voice caught behind the lump in his throat, Steve chokes when his orgasm takes him. The strong muscles in his thighs tense like bow strings as he pumps his hips into his fist with each shock. When the hell had he gotten so close to the end? It’s Steve’s second thought once he had breathe again, the first being, ‘Fuck, Billy.’ 

With a dreadful groan forced into the jacket, Steve lets his wobbly legs collapse under him. He ends up lying in the puddle of his own mess, but he still needs that shower anyway. ‘Fuck Billy,’ huh? Steve shakes his left hand free and rakes his hair out of his face. He stares off to the side while coming down, breathing so hard and deep he sees dark spots. 

Had he? Really just jerked off to the mixed sensation of his girlfriend and this… lunatic he met yesterday? Okay, it was mixed in the beginning, but he knows bulllshit when he sees it. At the end there, it was all toothy grins and licking lips. Steve grimaces in his afterglow and groans again. No longer are they ones of frantic, pathetic need. They’re regretful. Well, maybe not regretful, but… something. He doesn’t have a word to describe this. He’ll figure it out in the static spray of a well-deserved shower. 

At the end of the shower, as he’s toweling his hair, the shrill whine of a telephone pierces through the door. Steve pauses with his head caught in the towel just to listen, because that shouldn’t be happening. If the front desk needs to talk to someone, they need to call the other phone in his parents’ room… It is past noon, though, so they’re probably out and about. Maybe the front desk just needs to get in touch with anyone. So Steve grumbles, tosses the white towel on the floor, and dashes back to his room with another towel clutched around his waist. Out of habit. 

Tripping in his haste to reach the phone in time, Steve falls back to the bed on a hip. It traps the damp towel around him, but the maids will probably change the bedding anyway… Hopefully. Steve cranes up on an elbow and slaps a hand out for the phone. He plays hot potato with the damn thing as the cord tangles and almost yanks right out of his hand. A quick wrestle with it, though, and he holds it up to his ear with only a little hesitation. 

“Uh… hello?”

“This is a wake-up call for one pretty boy, Stevie.”

Billy’s grin isn’t any less suggestive or wide just because they’re on the phone. Steve does pull the receiver away from his face long enough to look around. Just to make sure Billy isn’t like here and just fucking with him. 

“Hey, uh, Billy… How did you… ?”

“The room number was on the key last night.” Steve can just imagine Billy’s nonchalant shrug. “It’s easy enough to call the front desk and have them transfer me to the room number I tell them. No questions asked.”

That makes sense. Steve even glances at the phone and squints to read warnings about dialing long distance and how the hotel will charge it to the room. Shrugging, Steve flips onto his side and holds the phone to his ear with his shoulder. Why would Billy call him other than to do this? The weird back and forth they’d established in waves trying to spirit Steve away. Billy probably just does it with everyone. He’s a… social butterfly. More like a social wasp. 

But then immediately on the heels of that thought, Steve feels bad about it and goes to correct it. Billy talks over Steve’s private debate, making him feel worse with the next thing he asks.

“So… what cha doin? Did you sleep until noon like me?”

On his end, Billy scoffs at himself and shakes his head. What a dumb fucking thing to ask. He is so dumb for this boy, is sure Steve had been his last thought before falling asleep on Frankie’s couch and then also his first fucking thought when he woke up. With an appropriate amount of morning wood and no shame as he jerked off to exaggerated fantasies about Steve. The shame came afterwards, and he still tries to swallow it all down while struggling for a tone of casualty on the phone. Yea right. 

“Yea man, actually slept good for once.” Steve gives a humorless laugh at the end with so much weight to it. Billy grips the receiver hard enough to make the plastic squeak. “Thanks for bringing me back here and everything. I don’t really think anybody would do all that for some dumbass he just met.”

There it is again. Steve calling himself stupid. 

“Like I said, Stevie boy, you just fucked up is all. Happens to the best of us… So you wanna like… hang out or something?”

Billy winces even as the words slowly spill out of his mouth. Steve had just said they’re strangers. But they don’t have to be. They can get past that, be buddies or whatever. Pay no mind that Steve is a tourist, and once he leaves, Billy will never see him again. That thought just makes it a little tricky to breathe, and Billy clears his throat a few times, coughs for good measure. 

Steve puzzles and frowns—it’s not a pout, damn it—while Billy coughs. Is it weird? For them to hang out? Steve glances around the room, at his suitcase tucked between the hotel dresser and the wall. He doesn’t even remember putting it there. Maybe a maid had moved it. Besides just bumming around, what else is he doing with his time here? He just wants to relax and not think about Hawkins, about how much he misses Nancy and how she should be here. Billy is a good distraction. 

“Hang out? Are you sure?”

Billy isn’t the type to offer this out of manners. Still, Steve has to be sure. Nothing worse than showing up to something and just wanting to leave but you can’t. He wouldn’t want to put Billy through that just to have the other boy turn sharp words and mean grins at him. Steve had meant what he said last night—what he thinks he remembers, anyway. Billy isn’t always an asshole. 

“Pft, I’m asking, aren’t I? Besides, what would you do instead? Just sit in the hotel room, bored off your ass? Or you wanna try tangoing with the ocean again?”

And there it is, Billy being a little bit of a jerk. That seems to track, so Steve scoffs right back. The back and forth between them… has a certain charm. Nancy always shuts him down, tells him to be serious or something. It’s fun to just… be like this with someone. Steve smiles until his cheek brushes the receiver. It’s nice. 

“No, asshole, I learned my lesson yesterday, don’t need a repeat. You just gonna drive me around or we gonna go somewhere?”

Billy has to keep his tight breaths quiet and under control. Steve really wants to hang out with him? He’s a tourist, so it’s not like there aren’t things he could do. They could go anywhere, walk the beach or drive until the gas runs out, see a movie… Billy can’t look too deeply under the surface of Steve’s words. He might find something he doesn’t want. He might find that Steve isn’t nearly as interested in him as he is in Steve. Wouldn’t be the first time. 

“We can figure it out. Frankie’s place is on the other side of town, so it’ll be like 20 minutes. You gonna wait outside or do I have to lay on my horn to get you to come out?”

“Please don’t,” Steve says with a laugh. “The lady at the front desk last night probably thinks we’re crazy. I’ll meet you out front where cars pull up under that little… like overhang thing. So people don’t get rained on when they get out of the car. You know what I’m talking about, right?”

Fighting to keep the fondness and smile out of his voice, Billy sighs, “Yea, pretty boy, don’t sweat the details, I’ll be there. Don’t be late.”

Billy hangs up even as Steve mumbles, “Says the guy driving to pick me up. How could I be the late one?”

He’s not, as it turns out, when Billy rolls up in the Camaro, already stretching across the cabin to pop the door open. It’s been sticking lately. Plus, what better opportunity to lean over and eat up every inch of Steve while he can? He drives like a bat out of hell, but it’s responsible mayhem. Distracted driving is dangerous, kills people all the time, and Billy plans on going out in a fight. Not some shitty car accident. 

“Well, well, well, good afternoon, baby doll. You’re looking a lot better after some sleep.”

Steve rolls his eyes but doesn’t object to the nickname. Just swings into the Camaro and doesn’t jam his hip into the center console like last night. Billy’s jacket is still in his hotel room. Still lying in the bed all splayed out and smelling of both of them, now. Steve won’t mention it and hopes with something anxious and excited in his stomach that Billy won’t ask. He doesn’t really want to give it back. 

“I slept all through the night for once, so yea, I needed it.” Steve draws the door shut and turns to Billy, wrists lazy where they drape over the steering wheel. “Maybe I was tired from the flight or something.”

“‘Or something,’” Billy hums, throwing the car into drive and glancing to the road before peeling out. “Sounds like a personal problem.”

The wind is loud and whips at their hair, their faces. Steve still catches Billy’s words, though, and rubs at the back of his neck. 

“Nah, not really. Just, uh, dealing with some crazy shit that happened around Thanksgiving.”

Billy whistles. 

“Must have been bad if you’re still thinking about it. You guys run out of corn or something? Harvest didn’t come out right?”

He says it with a grin, and Steve barely manages to throw a similar grin on his face. It doesn’t work, Billy seeing right through the cracks and how fake it is. Jokes aside, now he’s intensely curious what could possibly touch the life of a pretty boy like Steve so much that he’s still flipping out about it. 

Billy relaxes into the cradling touch of the Camaro and drums his fingers on the wheel. He has enough skeletons in his closet that keep him up at night. A sideways glance—Steve with his arms in his lap, staring out the window—doesn’t reveal much. Steve doesn’t look or act like the kind of guy who gets the shit beat out of him for no good reason. Billy knows exactly what that looks like and shares a glance with himself in the rear view mirror. 

No, nobody beats Steve, at least not at home. It’s something else. Girlfriend problems? Maybe. Steve is pretty enough to attract all sorts. Billy doesn’t stop himself from snorting. Steve doesn't seem like the drama type, either. He’s probably popular where he’s from, and small towns aren’t immune to drama. Whatever. He’ll work it out of Steve somehow. 

Tongue caught in a grin, Billy shrugs and offers, “Well baby doll, don’t worry too much about it. Whatever it is, it can’t get you here. You’re on vacation, live a little!”

“Heh, right…”

That’s too sobering a noise from Steve. So humorless, like whatever plagues him in Indiana can get him here. And that’s a crazy thought. Steve must be overthinking things. Still, his melancholy puts a damper on Billy’s mood. A light ahead of them changing to yellow, with them way too far away to make it, gives him a glimmer of hope. 

He cackles madly while flooring it to punch through the red light. Steve’s yelp is the sweetest candy. Billy rolls Steve’s cracked voice, his annoyed, “Billy, what the fuck?!” around his head until he’s all liquid in the seat again. His smirk at Steve is low heat that creeps up until it burns. Steve flushes a little just like Billy wants. And he wants. 


	5. Darlin'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billy takes Steve to Frankie's apartment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah I'm so sorry these next two chapters are so short. I promise this shit picks up immediately after the next chapter. When I was writing this, I was in the trend of making the chapters short and bite-sized. Because that was the vibe I was picking up while reading fics. I regret it so much now lol. Hopefully this is holding your attention. It picks up in two chapters, I fucking promise. Please hold out lol.
> 
> Brief mention of past underage.
> 
> Also? If you like it? Drop me a comment. I allow anon comments for a reason if you're shy. You're not bothering me, I don't hate you. And if you're uncomfortable with me responding, just tell me not to respond lol. It's fine.
> 
> [@missraygillette](https://twitter.com/missraygillette) I tweet about things I'm working on. Come love these stupid boys with me.

This side of the small port town is the quiet side. The side probably filled with old people and retirees. Billy parks on the street and unfolds himself from the Camaro like a cat. Steve takes the time to swivel around and around to take in how… pretty this area is. He’s used to trees and undergrowth, farm land along the state route that leads into Middle of Nowhere Hawkins. Green-brown and mud. This part of the community is lush with palm trees and perfectly manicured lawns, shrubs, everything. Some of the houses are even painted bright colors. Steve can’t help but follow Billy’s strut around the sprawling hood of the Camaro. Who does Billy know who lives here?

Billy points up to the top of a building with his keys wrapped around meaty fingers and says, “That’s Frankie’s place. Nice view, nice apartment, but Frankie is a collector, got a bunch of shit all over the place. Don’t break anything of his, or I’ll break you.”

Steve’s mocking face, bratty and ridiculous, doesn’t faze Billy’s back as he walks ahead of Steve. 

“Sure, man, I’m real scared,” Steve tacks on when Billy doesn’t react. 

Billy’s voice bounces off an open staircase as they climb to the top floor when he snarks back, “You better be afraid. I’ll fuck you up, baby.”

“Oh I’m sure,” Steve mumbles under his breath this time. 

They both breathe a little harder once they make it to the top. The building can’t be more than five stories, but it’s built on a hill, into a cliff, so the height is exaggerated. Steve leans against the sea-shell white of the stucco exterior as Billy flicks through keys. What a teenager is doing with so many keys on his ring, Steve isn’t sure. Billy looks like a working guy. They’re probably for his job or some shit. Steve wishes he could stop inspecting every little bit of Billy for a damn second.

Frankie’s apartment provides something else for Steve to pick apart. “Collector” is perhaps an understatement. The apartment isn’t cluttered so much as it’s full. Decorated. Comfortable? Steve wants to say that, but with delicate figurines staring at him, posters and art covering the wall, he’s not sure he likes all the attention. Billy kicks off his boots right by the door, no other shoes down there, and flops on a couch. It doesn’t look strong enough to take Billy’s bulk, but he sinks into it like he’s worn a soft spot into the cushions. Maybe he has. 

The carpet is plush, deep wine under Steve’s feet when he kicks off his sandals. He hesitates for the open space behind the couch that leads to a tiled floor. Kitchen probably. He shouldn’t just help himself and explore. Billy watches him with a fist supporting his cheek, and that also keeps Steve rooted to the living room. His legs stretch out down the rest of the couch, but he thinks better of it and just folds his legs up. Leaving space for Steve. Deliberate like a soft, “Come here.”

Frankie’s apartment makes him nervous and excited for some reason. There’s no one around to see them, to hear Billy’s quips and jabs. The heavy, electric way Billy stares him down adds to that. Like Billy is already on the edge and he’s just waiting for Steve to join him. Eyebrows flick up at him in the space of a blink. Billy can’t hold on to his stony expression, though, and cracks a little smirk. His left arm drapes along the back of the couch, and he flicks his hand to gesture to the room. 

“You can look around if you want, it’s not a big deal. You might wanna stay out of the bedroom, but otherwise have at it. Frankie’s got a lot of neat shit in here. I haven’t even seen all of it and I’ve known Frankie forever.”

The grin and Billy glancing around breaks their stare, breaks whatever charged spell he had over Steve. A shiver rocks through him, and then Steve turns on plush carpet to do just that. Look around. It’s like an antique store in here without the antique store smell. Little treasures on shelves, and each time Steve’s gaze roams over the same spot, he finds something new. It’s just clean, dark, and nice in here. Maybe smells a little like weed and something Billy ate earlier, but otherwise the apartment gives off a mature, chill vibe. 

As Steve squats to look through the glass pane of a China cabinet, filled with Asian fans, tea cups, all sorts of shit, Steve asks casually, “So who is this Frankie guy? Your friends from last night seem to know him, so like do you guys all hang out or… ?”

A pause stretches longer than the time to think or breath to ready words. A contemplative silence. Steve still squats down when he tosses a glance over his shoulder. Billy sits where Steve had left him, eyes heavy and blinking like he’s not here. Steve waits, squeezes himself down a little more to force Billy’s eyes to meet his, and then just stares until Billy comes back. 

A little shake of dirty curls and then, “Frankie is…” Thin lips purse and roll, gaze searching for the right words. Like Billy needs to choose them carefully. “Frankie is a friend of mine. He’s… away with some heavy shit in his life right now, so I stay here and water the plants. Feed the fish, that shit.”

“Heavy shit.” That could mean anything, but Steve knows when not to pry. 

“Sounds like a nice guy.” Steve groans a little through rising back to his full height, hands on his hips. “Sucks he’s going through some stuff. I feel that.”

“Yea?” Billy asks with a slight nod of his head in Steve’s direction. “You wanna see a picture of him? If I can find a decent one.”

He winks, playing around because he would never expose Frankie’s lifestyle to someone he didn’t know. He still isn’t sure if Steve is cool yet. He hadn’t said or done anything shitty to Diamond last night. And Diamond pretty much checks every box for “homosexual” a country boy like Steve could think of. Loud personality, louder mouth. Billy never did pick up the lisp that’s prevalent in the older gays. He’s glad about that for all the wrong reasons. He gives nothing away, and so Steve can’t take anything from him. At least nothing Billy doesn’t want him to know. 

Feet back on the floor, Billy’s body rolls up from the couch as he goes to search for a picture. He makes sure to stare Steve down while standing, just in case he catches Steve giving him a good once over. But Steve is more interested in the next little trinket on a shelf, squinting through the comfortable dimness of Frankie’s apartment. Billy could pull the curtains and blinds up, but why? He likes it this way. If he wants sunshine, he can go outside and get it. 

The tiny hallway that’s more like an addendum than a hallway plays host to some candid shots of Frankie. Before all this shit and sickness started to catch up with him. Billy slips free a Polaroid wedged into the glass and frame of an actual photo hanging on a hook. He takes care to keep greasy thumbprints away from the gloss and just lets his gaze roam over Frankie. It’s a picture from before they’d met. Frankie is still full in the face. His lips and skin still have color. He must have been the star at the center of everyone’s world. 

Wandering back to Steve and the living room is a robotic effort. Billy pauses beside Steve, still poking around, and murmurs, “Here,” a little softer than he means to. The sadness creeping up on him is almost worth it to see Steve do his little scared jump. 

“Jesus,” Steve breathes. “I didn’t even see you move from the couch.”

Billy hums and takes said spot on the couch back. Folding up on himself is more for his sake than offering Steve a place to sit. 

“Huh,” Steve blurts, flipping the photo over for a second to check for writing. “I don’t know what I was expecting, but he looks cool. Older than us, but whatever. How did you two meet?”

Steve shuffles closer when he asks that, Polaroid held out. Billy takes it back and just stares at Frankie’s frozen smile, lipstick subtle and hair stylish, like that guy from Queen. They have a few good songs, but that’s more Frankie’s taste…

“Billy?”

Blue eyes far too heavy flick up to Steve standing in his bubble. How does he explain Frankie and their… relationship to Steve? How does he explain that night on the beach, maybe the same beach where he’d met Steve, and how he just wanted everything to stop and go away? With the flaming remains of his surfboard hacked into pieces, dad’s rage still ringing in his ears, the heat of his fury still burning Billy’s face? And how he shoved tears off his cheeks, still a little baby fat at 14, and just sat there and watched the last pieces of mom burn in the sand. And then Frankie was there, throwing old love letters into the fire. 

“You see a good fire like this and can’t help but wanna do some spring cleaning, you know?” He gestured to the shoe box cradled in his arm. “Who needs this kind of baggage, can you dig it?”

He said so casually, standing on the beach in loafers, slacks, and a linen shirt unbuttoned to the center of his chest. The remnants of a southern drawl clung to his vowels despite the California accent smoothing everything out. He flicked another card into the fire and then settled down beside Billy, arms crossing over his bent knees to mirror Billy’s posture. He offered a little smile, but when Billy’s expression crumbled, too open and raw to handle such kindness, Frankie dropped the act. 

“What’s wrong, darlin’? What’s got you so down, pretty little thing like you?”

But dad’s voice was still so powerful behind Billy’s eyes, and he couldn’t stop the echoes of, “Grow the hell up! She’s never coming back,” and, “Man up, stop being a little faggot,” in his ears. He tried for a sneer or a glare, but it wasn’t in him. He just turned his head away from Frankie, away from the fire, and found safety in the space between his knees and his chest. And if at the first graze of Frankie’s long fingers in his curls, her curls, Billy tightened up and choked on his sobs, no one said anything about it. Frankie just let him cry and feel. When no one else would. 

“Billy? Hey…”

Billy blinks and the fire and Frankie disappear. It’s just Steve with a hand reaching for him. Like he means to touch Billy. And Billy would let him. 

The phone rings and startles them apart. Steve trips over his feet to stay upright. Billy takes that chance to pinch the bridge of his nose and squeeze moisture out of his eyes. He still has his fingers scooping into the wet spots of his eyes when he rockets up from the couch to make it to the phone. He could always let the answering machine get it, but what if it’s Frankie? He’d rather field a phone call from some nobody than miss Frankie calling him. When had Billy last visited him?

Steve rights himself just as Billy reaches the phone and snatches the receiver out of the cradle. He stands with a hip cocked, right hand casual in his pocket while he talks with the left. 

“Krieger residence,” Billy growls. 

Steve waits at the couch and watches with wide eyes as Billy’s whole stance deflates. 

“Hey,” he says, so soft it tightens Steve’s chest a little. “What’s going on?”

The voice on the other line is too light to hear no matter how Steve strains to snoop. Billy adjusts his weight to the other hip as he talks. Steve wonders if he’s a pacer. 

“No, no, I want to. I wanna come see you…” but Billy hesitates with whatever he’d wanted to say. He glances over with a brilliant, blue eye to look at Steve. “I’ve, uh… got someone with me…”

Billy continues to pin Steve down as the conversation continues. A little color blooms under Billy’s eye as he listens.

“I met him last night on the beach. His name is Steve... Yea he’s cool, don’t worry about it.” Something shrill like laughter twinkles in Billy’s ear, and then his blush is in full force. He whips his head back around to mutter quietly, “Maybe? I-I don’t know yet…”

Steve wants to move closer, wants so much to hear what the other person is saying. What they’d said to make Billy’s voice pitch a little high like that, brought color to his neck. But the anticipation keeps him rooted.

“Yea… Yea, no that’s… Are you sure? You don’t mind?”

The conversation wraps up with some hums and more muttered words. Billy only turns to face Steve after he hangs up the phone. He stares at the dark carpet with his thumbs in his pockets. It’s the far away look like earlier, when Steve had asked how he met Frankie. Billy’s vacant stare and all the life and brightness gone out of him coaxes Steve forward. He pauses in front of Billy and contemplates… what? Touching him? Waving a hand in front of his face?

Steve’s hands flex at his sides. What does he do? Certainly something. Billy is fucked in his head, so gone he doesn’t have any hot remarks about them standing so close. Steve’s first inclination is to just take Billy by the shoulders and shake him a little. Maybe clap his hands hard in Billy’s ear to startle him. Neither of those is a good choice. So if his initial reactions are poor, then maybe… What would Nancy do if he were stuck like this, too?

It’s simple, at that point. Steve rubs the fingers of his left hand and leaves it at his side. The right, free of a tremble purely because his mind is clear, lifts a little at a time. If he rushes up to Billy’s face, Billy might come to and punch him on accident. Or on purpose, who knows. Steve wouldn’t even be mad. A tiny curl of a smile tugs at the corners of his lips. Punching him on accident seems like a Billy-thing to happen. Steve clings to that bit of happiness as he steadies his hand and cups the coolness of Billy’s cheek. 

It isn’t chilly for long. Billy sucks down a breath between parted lips. His vacant eyes finally close on the exhale. When they open again, all their life and light shine bright again. The inch between their heights stands out so stark right now with Billy beaming those vibrant blues at him. Steve’s breaths dwindle to nothing as his thumb dares to twitch over Billy’s skin. When Billy draws in a loud breath, his jaw fills the hollow of Steve’s palm. They fit well together, a marvel to Steve compared to Nancy. 

Nancy…

Shivering and standing up a little taller, Steve drops his hand back down. Nancy. What had he been thinking? Steve takes a nervous step back, only partially preparing for a punch from Billy. Tommy H and other boys have socked him plenty for significantly less gestures of affection. Besides, he shouldn’t do something like that to Billy. It’s… unusual. Not cool. He thinks of Jonathan and the things he assumed about the guy. Hurtful words and things he would never say now. It would be Billy’s right to give him a mean left hook. Steve’s shoulders hunch in final preparation. 

Billy breaks their intense stare to shutter his eyes from the sight of Steve flinching back. Of fear rising on his face. Billy scuttles a step back too and wishes he had his boots on to even out their heights. Coming back to himself from memories of Frankie, to be staring at the prettiest little thing he’s ever seen… And then to have Steve recoil and step back… He could use a trip to see Frankie. At least with Frankie he knows where he stands. Frankie understands him. 

Billy muscles his way around Steve and tugs his jean jacket back on. It’ll be cold in Frankie’s room. Through the shuffle of popping the collar and smoothing the material over his chest, Billy glances over his shoulder. Each time he draws himself closer to Steve, the further away he feels. To be cold to Steve though, when this isn’t his fault… Well, it’s either give Steve the cold shoulder or burn Steve with him when Billy sets himself ablaze. 

“Let’s go. Frankie wants to meet you.”

Ah. That tone. Steve has tripped the hair-trigger wire of Billy’s ire. Again. They’re invisible wires and he’s always going too fast to see them before they garrote him. Sighing and flopping his arms in defeat, Steve follows Billy back to the front door, shoves his feet in his sandals, and then steps back onto the concrete of the hallway. Billy is silent, silence gone tense and delicate like a burn, and so Steve leaves him be. He trails behind the other boy as they wind their way down flights of stairs and back to the Camaro. 

Rumbling back across town, to where Frankie is, Billy holds his head in his left hand. They’re not driving into the sun, but he opts to snap his sunglasses onto his face anyway. The music is up, but not too up. Neither of them speak. And he’s so grateful for that, too raw around Steve right now to take any mindless conversation. It’s either chill or burn Steve. He has to remember that with Frankie’s reed-thin voice teasing him. 

“Someone? What does that mean, darlin’? Like ... a Maxine-someone? A Tyrone-someone?”  
“The beach, huh? Must be your good-luck charm. So… is he… a friend of Dorothy’s, per se?”  
“Oh darlin’, you got it so bad. You sound like you’re tremblin’. You must like him an awful lot.”

Billy smothers a hand over his mouth. He’d said “maybe” to that. Maybe he likes Steve? Liking Steve is barely scratching the surface of how he actually feels. But Frankie had known that instantly, only becoming aware of Steve's existence that very moment. Billy shoves his fingers in his hair, still not quite believing Frankie then demanded Billy bring him Steve right that second so he could meet the “pretty, little honey.” He wants to groan, but Frankie isn’t exactly wrong. 

They arrive soon enough, and Billy’s little sneak-peek fest is over. Sure, he’s trying to keep his cool. That doesn’t mean he can’t observe. Looks are free. And once they get up to the floor Frankie’s room is on and Steve actually meets Frankie… Billy doubts he’ll be able to look at Steve while they’re in there. It’ll tear him apart to watch any emotion, positive or negative, ghost over Steve’s face when he sees. 

Billy just hopes that what Steve is about to see doesn’t chase him away.


	6. Honey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve meets Frankie and learns something about Billy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I almost forgot to update this, my bad. Hope you enjoy it. Next chapter is when this shit really starts picking up, I promise. I can't wait until we hit the longer chapters. Biggest regret of this first Harringrove fic, ngl.
> 
> More past underage sex mentions here. RIP
> 
> If you've ever been interested in fem Harringrove, maybe check out my long-fic "Solidarity" that just got chapter two on Monday. It's even longer (and better) that this fic, imho. Or whatever, maybe genderswap isn't your thing, that's cool. [If it is, give it a shot.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22656892)
> 
> [@missraygillette](https://twitter.com/missraygillette) I tweet about things I'm working on. Come love these stupid boys with me.

A hospital isn’t what Steve expects. Billy had said Frankie is going through some “heavy life shit” or something like that. Maybe it’s a recent turn of events. Billy knows where to go, though, doesn’t even hesitate at the hospital’s receptionist area, at the elevator, or even the nurse's station for the floor. It’s not the sort of normal confidence Steve has seen time and time again over knowing Billy for a whole 24 hours. It’s a defeated sort of confidence. Like no matter how high his mood walking it, it doesn’t matter. “Heavy life shit” indeed. 

The door to room 707 is already wide open. Steve hesitates at the threshold and stares at Billy’s broad back shifting under his jean jacket. It’s either steel himself like this or freak out at the state of the patient lying in bed. 

Whatever machines are hooked up to him, they’re noisy and consistent. What’s left of him is pale and thin, cheeks and eye sockets hollow. It’s like something terrible out of a textbook, and the teacher drones on about it without caring about the real people in the photos. Breaths a little strained and thin, Steve forces his gaze back to Billy. Billy fusses with a small box near the rest of the supplies stored in here. With a glare, he tugs free two face masks and shakes them out to untangle them. When he approaches Steve, barely past the doorframe, he holds one out without looking at Steve. 

“Here,” he murmurs soft, gentle. “Put this on. Make sure it covers your nose, too.”

Steve takes the flimsy mask, but doesn’t move to put it in. Over the fall of Billy’s curls, Steve stares at the sleeping patient. 

“Is that… Frankie?” And once the first question is out, more pour from Steve’s mouth. “Is it safe to be here? Why do we have to wear masks? Is he contagious?”

Billy’s face loses some of its color. His lips go thin and tense. He struggles with it for a second, long enough for Steve to realize he’s run his mouth without understanding all the details—reminds him of shoving the Byers’ front door open, talking over Nancy thinking that Jonathan had hurt her. 

Somehow, Billy finds the strength to not deck him right in the face. Steve holds both their tension for them as Billy exhales nice and slow, closes his eyes for a second. When he opens them, his face is a little less friendly, but he doesn’t look like he’ll throw a punch. At least not right now. 

“He’s not contagious. We are. Put on the fucking mask or get out.”

What the hell is that supposed to mean? Steve thinks better of asking right this second. On the heels of Billy’s gruff demand, the body in the bed shifts. 

“Well hey there, darlin’. What’s all that cussin’ about?”

The voice is so thin, paper thin and weak. Steve finds his own voice dry and stuck in his throat as he watches Billy whip around, harsh words forgotten. Just like when he’d answered the phone, Billy goes from steel to silk in the few steps it takes to bring him to the bed. Steve has a moment to consider maybe he shouldn’t be here. Maybe he shouldn’t watch feeble, skeleton hands reach for Billy’s face to hold him. Billy’s hands fight with the guard rail, shove it down at last, and then bends as close as he can to be with Frankie. 

All the tightness in Billy’s body dissolves. Steve’s heart is in his throat as he watches the two reunite. Frankie’s haggard face breaks into a delicate smile as he pulls Billy close and pets his hair, nuzzles his cheek despite the mask. Steve swallows hard and then thumbs his mask still in his hands. He should… leave. He shouldn’t watch this. This had been a mistake. To butt in on something so private and genuine between them. He holds onto the mask, unsure of what to do with it now, and shifts to leave. 

“Is that him, darlin’? Your Steve?”

Neither makes comment about the “your Steve” part. Brown eyes share a glance with blue, a little wetter than they were when Billy had stared him down just now. Billy sniffs and draws himself back to his full height, out of Frankie’s hands. They drop to the blanket pulled snug up to Frankie’s chin and don’t move. Even from here Steve sees each individual bone and tendon dancing under clear skin. It scares him more than the monster. 

“Um… hi, yea, I’m Steve…”

Billy’s eyes harden, and he jerks his head down to nod to the mask.

“Put it on.”

“Now darlin’, don’t be such a sourpuss.” Frankie turns a placating smile up at Billy, but it doesn’t linger. Frankie curls a hand towards them and says, “Come here, honey, I don’t bite. I promise.”

The Frankie cooped up in bed is a shell of the one Billy had shown him in the photo. He’s lost a lot of hair, what little weight he had. His smile persists, but the glow is gone. Steve guides the white bands of the face mask over his ears as he approaches, everything in him telling him to run away. Steve can’t help but wonder how much time passed between the Polaroid and now. What did this to him? How did it happen? But Steve shoves all that and his fear down and joins Billy on the opposite side of the hospital bed. He won’t come farther than the rail that’s still up on his side. 

Frankie is all eyes on him, and his arms tremble when he lifts them to beckon Steve down. 

“Sorry, honey, my eyes aren’t what they used to be. Lemme get a good look at you.”

Not for the first time today, Steve wonders how old Frankie is. He glances through the empty space to Billy, for comfort or permission, he’s not sure. Billy doesn’t return his searching glance, just stares down at his fists resting on the blanket. Forcing a nervous smile to his unseen lips, Steve meets Frankie halfway. Long fingers end up in his hair, pet over the short curve of his jaw. They reach under the mask, unafraid, to touch him so carefully. It’s an appreciative touch. Admiring, not inspecting. It’s… nice. 

“Oh Billy,” Frankie sighs with his head tilted to look at Billy. “He is just the prettiest little thing.” His attention quickly turns back to Steve, and he combs shaky fingers through Steve’s bangs already flipped to the right. “Love the hair, Steve, what products do you use?”

“Oh uh… I recently changed to the uh…” He blushes and has to stop himself from reaching up to fidget with his hair or rub the back of his neck. He swallows and finishes, “I-I use the Farrah Fawcett hairspray, it uh works pretty good, I guess.”

“I’ll say, honey, I bet you have all the… girls chasing after you.”

This time last year? He would have boasted about that. Puffed up his chest all proud, high and mighty, and declared that yes, he is a ladies man and can’t get enough. Last winter has been… sobering. And college and the discussion he has yet to have with his parents looms. Steve thinks back on himself, to that boy who scrambled up the siding of Nancy Wheeler’s house to… get off yea, but also just spend time with Nancy. It’d been puppy love. They’re different now. 

Steve is more different than he’s willing to admit. Frankie goes on about something, but Steve is all eyes and attention on Billy. He’s since scooted a chair from the wall to sit right at the bedside, thick fingers playing with the blanket over Frankie. Billy watches himself fidget until something draws blue eyes up to Steve. Steve is different than the boy who’d made love to Nancy in his childhood bed, and he doesn’t know how to tell anyone. Maybe Billy would understand what he’s been through, how unmoored he is.

Steve is hollow and hurting all at once and flicks a hand to his eyes to rub at them. It’s silly. He’s being silly in the hospital room of someone who is actually dying. He should be so lucky to be standing here in one piece. When Steve lowers his hand, Billy isn’t looking at him anymore and Frankie frowns, worried. 

“You okay, honey? It can get so stuffy in here sometimes, I’m sorry.”

“No, no, it’s not that. The mask is sort of, uh, catching my breath and I can smell it heh.”

That draws a sweet smile out of Frankie. He sighs like Steve has said the cutest thing and then relaxes back in his pillows. Billy sits up a little at that, flinches like he’ll rise and do something. Be useful. Frankie hums and waves Billy’s hands away from the pillows, takes them in his hands instead and draws them to his lips. Steve definitely shouldn’t watch this. He carefully swivels his head to observe literally anything other than Billy and Frankie. Maybe a vending machine would be a good idea…

Already pivoting on his feet, Steve points to the hallway and says softly, “I’m gonna go look for a vending machine. You guys want anything?”

Frankie has Billy by the wrists with Billy’s powerful hands cupping his cheeks. They must be warm. It must feel good with how cold Frankie looks. He hums and gives a little shiver. Steve can relate, having held Billy in much the same way not even an hour ago. 

Sighing, Frankie murmurs, “Thank you, Steve, that’s very sweet of you. I’m all right, though.”

“Uh, cool. No problem. Billy?”

Billy gives him the briefest glance. Steve would kill for a grin or some snappy comment from Billy right about now. Anything other than this choking, terrible melancholy that’s fallen over him. 

“I’m good,” Billy grunts behind his mask when he finally looks away. He doesn’t seem to mind Steve intruding on this moment. 

Steve minds. Hopefully his departure hadn’t looked as frantic as it felt. The first thing he does is draw the white bands from around his ears to free himself of the face mask. Into his pocket it goes, in case he has to walk back into the room. Charming and easy, he approaches the nurse station to ask for directions rather than wander around aimlessly. A nurse manning the desk makes the face older women do around him. Like he’s cute. She directs him to a cafeteria on the first floor, down a hallway from the lobby. He can find it. And if he can’t, well, at least he’s given Billy and Frankie some privacy. 

His thoughts can’t linger on them for too long. He’ll start picking everything apart and end up chasing his tail. The age difference is something he can’t wrap his head around. Billy had said he knew Frankie “for forever,” but what does that really mean? Even if Frankie is only 20-something, that’s still a little weird. Billy’s in 12th grade like him, so even if Billy flunked a few times, he’s still a teenager. And that’s not even beginning to approach the whole… homosexual thing. 

Not that there’s anything wrong with that! Steve shakes his head at himself. That sounds like a hick thing to say. Like he’s backwards or something. Like he used to be with Tommy and Carol, calling Jonathan a fag and any other guy who’d dared to be a little sensitive. Steve scrubs a hand through his hair like that’ll help. He can’t undo those things. He doesn’t feel or think that way anymore. So why is he so uncomfortable around Billy and Frankie when they’re together?

It’s the age thing. And whatever illness Frankie has. It’s not the gay thing. He’d have to judge himself a little bit if it were that, yea? Steve throws his hands up as he marches down the stark hospital hallway, following the drifting scent of food. He made a joke of himself this morning, jerking it to Nancy but also Billy. It’s the truth, and he denied it all day when thinking about it. But it’s true. He likes the way Billy smells and how strong he is, how he grins with his whole body and how his eyes light up…

Stopping dead in his tracks, Steve slaps both hands to his face and gives a pitiful groan. 

“Fuck,” he whines into the palms of his hands. 

He might like Billy… a little. And isn’t that like handling a hot frying pan still spitting oil? Like he’s stumbling with it and just trying not to get burned. But he can’t drop the pan, can’t drop Billy and the truth. Steve drags both hands down his face and grimaces at the sweat his palms leave behind. Well… it won’t matter in two weeks, he supposes. If only that thought were as comforting as he intends it. Instead, it’s like he throws the hot oil in his face and then drops the pan on his foot. It sucks. 

Appetite lost, Steve makes a u-turn and wanders back to the elevators. He won’t return right away to the room. But maybe he’ll wander around. Loiter at the nurse's station… He just wants to go back to the hotel and maybe sleep. Or watch crappy TV. Something. With so much uncertainty in his heart, he wishes Nancy were here again. He could just tell her all the things he’s thinking and how he feels, and Nancy would help him figure it out. She would put everything into perspective. Maybe he should call her… Would his parents mind the charge on their bill?

Steve finds room 707 easily enough. While fishing the face mask back out of his pocket, Billy’s voice tickles in his ear. 

“It doesn’t matter, Frank. He’s a tourist, I’m never gonna see him again.”

“Oh darlin’, you can’t talk like that. It’s a small world out there, distance don’t really mean nothing.”

Billy sighs, and Steve can just imagine his eyebrows coming together in frustration. He shouldn’t listen to this, should… walk in or say something as he’s about to walk in so they stop talking. Steve presses his back to the wall and keeps right on eavesdropping. There’s a saying about eavesdropping. He doesn’t remember it. 

“Hey mister, look at me right this instant. Stop pushing all your feelings down and say what’s really on your mind. You’re too pretty to be all red and angry like that. Reminds me of your bastard father.”

Billy gives a single, humorless chuckle. 

“Yea, I bet… I just…”

Steve’s heart does something funny in his chest. It hurts a little, but he’s not scared. He just listens. 

“I don’t know, there’s just something about him. I look at Steve and wanna punch him cuz of some of the stupid shit he says, like when he calls himself stupid or asks something obvious. But at the same time I…” He sighs. “I just don’t know, Frank. It’s not like how I feel about you or strangers looking for a good time.”

“Well, darlin’, do you not like how you feel? It must be confusing for you to feel all these things.”

“It is,” Billy says with a sigh. He must be tired chasing his tail like Steve is tired of chasing his. “And I mean don’t get me wrong, I’ve been having fun today and I want to hang out or whatever, bum around. I just don’t know if he wants to. I don’t wanna waste my time. I don’t want to…” He grumbles, must struggle with himself, and then admits lowly, “I just don’t want to hurt him. Or for him to hurt me.”

The mattress under Frankie whines, and they must move closer. Steve wishes he could see, but at the same time knows it’s not his place. He swallows and looks down at his fingers playing with the mask. So… Billy maybe sort of likes him too. That’s a thought. 

“Billy, my sweet, sweet boy. It’s all right to be afraid. And it’s all right to feel this way, you know that, right?”

“Yea,” Billy sighs, defeated. He doesn’t sound so sure. 

“And no matter what, it’s not a waste, Billy. Give Steve a chance to prove you wrong. I think you two go real sweet together, and I think Steve will surprise you.”

Billy snorts and asks, “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Frankie must be grinning. His voice is too mischievous when he practically sings, “You’ll just have to wait and see, won’t you?”

Face a little hotter than when he’d started listening, Steve walks sideways away from the hospital room. The nurse shoots him an odd look for his behavior, but he grins it away. He makes a point to hum and step a little louder than necessary. A splash of guilt from snooping helps color his cheeks, but Billy’s quiet contemplations are the driving force behind the flutter in his stomach, the spring in his step. He needs to talk to Nancy so badly, will surely fuck this up if he tries to handle it on his own. 

Billy and Frankie are right where they were when Steve had left. Steve grins as he slips his mask back on, reassumes his place at Frankie’s bed. 

“Hey guys. Would you believe I never made it to a vending machine? I wasn’t hungry anyway.”

Billy flicks an eyebrow up at him. 

“So what, you just wandered around for a little while?”

Steve’s little laugh is bashful, but at least it covers up any tick he’d give away that he’s lying. 

“Yea, pretty much. Plus I thought that maybe you’d like a-a minute alone without me tagging along, yea?”

“How thoughtful,” Frankie says with a pointed look at Billy.

They get to enjoy Billy rolling his eyes, faking like he doesn’t care. Steve knows now that Billy cares, cares so much more than he lets on. He’s sometimes a jerk, yea, but he’s also emotional and full of feelings he doesn’t know what to do with. Steve relates in the worst way, like comparing scrapes on a playground. And maybe Billy knows he’s thinking about him, because Billy’s eyes meet his. Billy’s arms cross over his chest, but his eyes are all soft and unguarded. He must really think Steve would do or say something to hurt him. 

Frankie interrupts that terrible thought with a tired sigh. 

“Thank you for accompanying Billy to visit me, Steve. It’s nice to meet new people, see new faces. You’ll keep my darlin’ out of trouble, now, won’t you?”

Steve makes a point to watch Billy, to wait for blue eyes to angle his way, before he says honestly, “I can’t promise anything, but I’ll try. Or at least I’ll be right there in trouble with him.”

His cheeky grin doesn’t come through the mask. But he smiles anyway, and Frankie wheezes out a little laugh. It sounds like it pains him to do so, like every jump of his shoulders takes more energy than the last. He slows himself after a few chuckles and settles deeper into the bed, the pillows. The sickness plaguing him is so much more apparent without him talking. Steve is right back where he’d started when they walked in here, a little afraid and uncomfortable. Billy rocking to his feet, nudging the chair away, is Steve’s saving grace. They’re leaving. 

“It was nice meeting you, Frankie.”

Frankie sucks down a shallow breath and murmurs, “You too, Steve. Have fun on vacation, honey.”

“I will,” he says softly, mostly to himself. 

Steve shuffles to the door, but doesn’t leave. He watches Billy bend back down one more time for Frankie. He pets a hand over Frankie’s forehead and what’s left of his hair. Steve shuffles that much closer to the door. Here he is, watching a delicate moment between them again. He shouldn’t, and yet he does. Steve holds his stare as he watches Billy’s stony expression soften a little, and then he kisses Frankie’s forehead so tenderly, so carefully. 

And then it’s over with a snap of Billy’s eyes up to his. 

“Let’s go,” he grunts as he shoulders past Steve. 

The space inside the Camaro has never been so uncomfortable and stiff. Billy slams his door when he drops into the car, so Steve takes extra care to not copy him. Before the engine even roars to life Billy’s hands are busy with his pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Steve opens his mouth to ask where they’re going, but Billy smacking the smokes and lighter on the dashboard stops him. Steve just stares straight ahead as Billy smokes like a chimney. 

“Hey Bi—”

“What?”

Steve grimaces to himself but lets it go. It’s not worth Billy spitting fire at him and bickering. It’s just not. 

“Is Frankie… okay?”

Billy exhales through the tight O of his lips and holds his cigarette aloft. 

“Nope.”

Nothing more than that. Just “nope.” Steve squirms as the tension mounts, takes to rubbing his upper arm and then his neck. 

“Do you mind if I ask, like, what’s wrong with him? Like why did we need the masks?”

Billy huffs a single breath out. Like Steve has said something funny. 

“You really are from the middle of nowhere,” he snaps under his breath. Billy tilts his head the other way, licks his lips, and then gestures with the business end of his cigarette when he rants, “Cuz we could kill him. If he catches a cold or some shit from anybody, he can’t fight it like we can. He could die, is going to die regardless.” 

Billy rolls the filter of his cigarette between his fingers, just staring at it. Steve wants nothing more than to say… something. To convince Billy that’s not true. But Frankie is in a bad way, and every breath could be his last. 

On the heels of another drag and exhale, Billy asks with his tone still sharp, “You watch the news, Steve? Interested in”—Billy gives a wild shrug of his shoulders and shakes the longer he talks—“politics or the shit that’s going on in this country?”

“… Not-not really, man, no…”

“Then I guess you don’t know what AIDS is, huh?”

It’s a rhetorical question, but Steve shakes his head anyway. 

Billy’s upper lip twitches. He can’t be mad at Steve. Anybody in his town who isn’t straight is probably so far in the closet… And if he doesn’t know anyone impacted by it, why would he be in the know? Still, Billy’s insides are sick with the truth, that Frankie is dying, will die, and there’s nothing he can do to slow or stop it. He can’t stop Frankie from leaving him, can’t stop Steve from going home next week, couldn’t stop mom from walking out on him. Everyone leaves. 

Blowing out the last of his smoke, Billy flicks the cigarette onto the parking lot. The Camaro growls to life as faithful as always, and Billy drives it a little harder than he needs to. He doesn’t say where they’re going, and Steve shows him some mercy by keeping quiet the whole time. The drive from the hospital back to the beach gives Billy time to calm down, to force his sadness into something sharp and deadly. He understands this. All the soft shit Frankie has told him for years, that shit? It’s too much right now. He doesn’t want to feel anything right now. 

They roll up in front of the hotel, Billy barely stopping, before he barks, “Get out.”

He’s back to being cold to Steve. It’s not what he wants, not after telling Frankie how he feels. How he wishes Steve felt, too. It’s either this or burning Steve, he tells himself. The lesser of the two evils. 

Steve throws his hands up like Billy is coming for him and spits out, “Okay, okay, you don’t need to tell me twice.”

Steve… doesn’t sound as pissy as he could be. Like he’s not mad about this. And that just stirs up the hurt, angry storm in Billy more. He bites the inside of his cheek until he tastes blood so he doesn’t start screaming at Steve and make a scene. Take a swing. That’s what dad would do, right? Billy jiggles his left leg against the door and counts the second until Steve shuts the door. He stands at the open passenger window like he wants to say something. Billy peels out of the parking lot before he can. Before Billy snaps and ruins everything. 

On his way upstairs, Steve asks the front desk how to make a long-distance call from his room.


	7. Sweetie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve calls Nancy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Wednesday, my dudes. I was editing later chapters of this fic very recently and stumbled upon a terrible thing I did. And I didn't even mean to do it?? I just galaxy-brain realized what Terrible Thing I did, and wow, I really hope someone catches on to it. Like REALLY hope. Anyway~ Nope you enjoy Nancy =) She's certainly a piece of work.
> 
> [@missraygillette](https://twitter.com/missraygillette) I tweet about things I'm working on. Come love these stupid boys with me.

He has to leave a message on the Wheelers’ answering machine. Either no one is home or no one got to the phone in time. Hopefully the number he reads off for Nancy to call him back works. It helps that he doesn’t have to hide from her parents anymore. He has no idea when or if Nancy will actually call him—her mom might get mad about the long-distance charge. In the meantime, he flops on the firm hotel bed and considers a nap. Billy’s jacket is still here, half under him. And now he wonders if he’ll ever get a chance to return it. 

Best-case scenario: Billy cools off and shows up or just calls for him again. Worst? He never sees Billy again. Both are entirely possible, and Steve drives himself sick wanting it not to be the latter. Would it really be a big deal? To never see Billy again? He’s known the guy a whole day and some change. Like what does it matter?

But it does matter, even if Steve wishes things were the contrary. He groans, flips over, and punches Billy’s jacket. It’s like his first crush in kindergarten all over again! Plus—and Steve punches Billy’s jacket a few more times for good measure—he has Nancy. The perfect girl. His dream! He’s in a committed relationship and would rather let the monster eat him slowly than ever betray her. 

Steve lies there, bone tired but unable to actually fall asleep. He thinks maybe an hour has passed—could be minutes actually, he’s not keeping track—when he rolls off Billy’s jacket. He considers it with a pout. He should have given this back to Billy when Billy picked him up. It will be a reminder of Billy if he never comes back. Steve decides right there and then that he’ll keep the leather jacket and take it back to Hawkins if that should happen. It’s probably a stupid idea, one that will haunt him even if he tucks the jacket away in a closet and tries to forget about this summer. 

Steve sits up on a hip and paws at the jacket to reel in it. It feels so small draped over his lap, but it’s plenty broad enough in the shoulders to fit him. If anything, it might be a tiny bit too big on him. It’s the perfect fit Billy. If it weren’t so warm, Steve might be tempted to pull it on. Heat creeps into Steve’s cheeks anyway, and after a glance around the empty room, he presses his face to the collar. 

The phone rings. 

“Shit!”

Steve throws the jacket to the bed and falls over himself as he springs for the phone. Flopping on his stomach, Steve kicks himself to the nightstand to snatch the receiver off the cradle. 

“Hel-Hello?”

“Steve?”

He perks right back up. 

“Hey, Nance! Aw, babe, I’m so happy you called me.”

She snorts a little and asks, “You… do know there’s a time difference, right?”

He can just see her grin, and he flops on his back again. His left hand brushes the pile of Billy’s jacket. 

“Oops? I didn’t think about that. Is it night there already?”

“It doesn’t get dark until almost 9.”

“Yea but? I don’t know what time it is there…”

She giggles again, and Steve’s hand tightens in leather. 

“You are an idiot, Steve Harrington.”

‘… like when he calls himself stupid…’

Steve swallows hard and cuts Nancy off with, “Hey Nance, um… I need to tell you something.”

The line goes soft and quiet. He… never does this. She’s the one who needs to tell him things. Steve worries at his bottom lip, plays with his hair, and is about to explode when Nancy finally says something. 

“Is everything okay?”

Steve grabs his bangs and hugs Billy’s jacket to his chest. 

“Yes? No? I don’t know, I just… I needed to talk to you, Nance. Something happened to me, well…”

“Okay, Steve, okay, take a breath. Are you listening?”

“Yea,” he sighs with plenty of frustration. 

“Why don’t you start at the beginning and tell me what happened, sweetie.”

Steve holds and squeezes the receiver in his hand. This is what he wants. He wants to share everything with Nancy. No more secrets. Ever. 

“I…” He licks his lips and tightens his hand in Billy’s jacket. “I met someone.”

“… Oh? Like… what do you mean?”

“I, well okay, so when we first got here, I just wanted to relax. So I went to the beach to swim, and… I kinda messed up.”

“Messed up how?”

“I kinda maybe got swept out a little? I got stuck in some current, and I panicked? I didn’t know what to do, but there was this guy on the beach—”

“Did he call the lifeguard?”

“No, he jumped in and helped me, stopped me from having a total freak out.” Steve rises to his knees, too excited to stay still. “And we ended up back on the shore. He took off, so I thought that was that, right?”

“Yea?”

His legs burn as he remembers his run, so Steve pops up from the bed and carries the jacket and phone around as far as the cord allows. 

“But it was crazy. I couldn’t sleep—”

“Still? Steve…”

“I know, I was keeping a journal or whatever, just! Listen, okay? So I walked to a diner cuz I couldn’t sleep, and when I still couldn’t sleep, I went for a run. I got all turned around in the dark, and then the guy was there in his car.”

“That sounds…” Nancy hesitates for the right word. “That doesn’t sound safe.”

“I know what you’re thinkin, Nance, but he’s cool. Like why go through the trouble of sav-helping me only to, what? Do some messed up stuff to me later?”

He’s pacing, now. The jacket is heavy and warm draped over his left arm. It’s starting to sweat. Steve should probably put it down, but he’s too animated to stop now. 

“He could have, you know. It’s entirely possible.”

“Okay, well he didn’t. I met some of his friends and we all hung out for a few hours.” Nancy doesn’t need to know about the drinking and weed. She will probably suspect on her own, but… “And then he brought me back to the hotel. He was… really nice.”

Silence and then carefully, “That sounds really great, Steve. Did anything else happen?”

He stops in front of the window that stretches along the bed. The curtain that keeps sunlight out is drawn back, leaving a sheer layer for privacy. Steve's leans closer to get a view of the ocean. When he looks at it, he only thinks of Billy. 

“I hung out with him again today, saw another friend of his. The other guy, he’s… Nance, do you know what AIDS is?”

“What?”

“I don’t know what it is, is it an acronym for something?”

“No, Steve, I know what AIDS is, I was asking ‘what’ as in I don’t know why you would ask that. I’m confused…”

Steve throws his head back in a sigh and then wanders over to the bed again. He sits heavily, and the mattress springs groan. 

“Billy’s friend, that’s the uh guy I’m talking about, he has this other friend, Frankie, and he takes care of Frankie’s apartment. Frankie is in the hospital, and Billy basically implied Frankie has AIDS. And I… I messed up and pissed him off. So I’m asking what AIDS is.”

“Steve…” She has that edge in her voice when he’s being difficult and pigheaded. But she takes a breath and figures out how to deal with him. “I can only imagine what you said or did, but I hope it was a misunderstanding.”

“It was! Billy got pissed off because I didn’t know what was wrong with Frankie! I thought he was just sick, and Billy handed me a face mask, so I thought he was contagious.”

“Oh Steve…”

He could just scream. He knows he messed up, okay! It had been a mistake, he admits that, but he can’t make up for it if he doesn’t know what he did wrong!

“Nancy, please, I need your help. Please?”

“Well, last I saw on the news, it’s an illness mostly gay men are contracting. I’ve heard it be called the ‘gay flu,’ but I’m thinking that’s not the case anymore. It’s not a cold or something like the flu…” And then she hesitates again. “Steve… people usually die soon after they find out.”

Heart falling, Steve says softly, “That’s what Billy said. That Frankie was gonna die… How did that happen? Like, if it’s an illness, how did he get it?”

She hums and then, “I could be wrong, but I think it transmits in the blood and… other. Bodily fluids. I think it usually gets passed on when an infected person has—”

“Sex?”

“Yes, Steve, when an infected person has sex with someone else, they pass the illness along to them. But I’m worried that maybe you can get it from touching them…”

“No,” he says hotly. “No, that’s not true. I watched Billy and Frankie hold hands while we were visiting. They…” And his mouth screws up a little, remembering Billy’s tenderness and the kiss to Frankie’s forehead. “Billy kissed him goodbye. Not-not on the lips, but…”

“Steve, it’s… it’s entirely possible Billy has it, too.”

That is not a possibility that had occurred to Steve. Billy seems to live in Frankie’s apartment. There’s obviously something between them…

“Steve?”

Steve has to blink through the stinging heat in his eyes. 

“No, I… That can’t be true. Billy would tell me.”

“Would he? You’ve known him for a day. And you said you pissed him off when you guys were talking about it. It’s entirely possible—”

“I don’t believe that.”

“I’m not arguing with you, Steve.” But she says it in the tone of voice she uses when he’s trying to convince her on something and it’s just not working. “I’m just telling you my theory. Why don’t you just ask Billy yourself.”

“I want to, but…” Steve bends until his elbows are in his knees, pinning the jacket against his body. To keep his free hand out of his hair, he holds on to the leather and rubs it under his fingers. “But he was really mad when he dropped me off at the hotel. What if he never comes back?”

“Then there’s nothing you can do about it.”

But it’s not that simple! All at once, Steve springs back up from the bed and paces to the window again. The ocean is calm, waves breaking in even licks up the beach. He just wants to go back to before he’d said something stupid. Why couldn’t he just keep his mouth shut. There are so many things he doesn’t know about Billy, wants to know. So many things left unsaid, and now he has all these feelings and so much guilt… 

“I don’t want that,” he pleads with his voice soft once more. “I… I don’t want things to end like that.”

“I’m not sure if you have a choice. If Billy doesn’t want to talk to you, then he doesn’t. You can’t make him.”

“Nancy?”

He makes no attempt to hide the little crack in his voice. He’s not going to burst into tears like a little baby, but he is upset. He still needs to tell Nancy his revelation. And then live with the consequences, whatever they may be. 

“Nancy, I need to tell you something else. And I’m sorry for what I’m about to tell you. I’m so sorry, and I would never do anything to hurt you, I—”

“Take a breath and tell me what’s wrong. It’s okay, Steve, we can talk through it.”

He does as she says, legs trembling where he still stands at the windows. Maybe he should sit down again. Steve lets himself fall back when he sits so he can lie down, feet planted on the floor. 

He stares up at the ceiling, gathers his courage, and mumbles, “I think I have a crush on Billy.”

Silence. The longer the silence drones on, static loud in his ear, the tighter Steve’s chest grows. 

“Nancy? Are you mad at me?”

“No,” she says carefully, calmly. “I’m not mad. Just… confused. You have a crush? On Billy?”

“I think so,” he says, so small. 

“You just met him.”

“I know! But, I don’t know, there’s something about him.” He pouts to no one and points out, “I had a crush on you the first time I saw you, you know. I just didn’t say anything.”

“Okay, but you’ve never had a crush on anyone but a girl. Do you? Like boys?”

“I don’t know!” He whines. Why can’t it be easy? “I don’t like Tommy H or any of those douchebags at school. I’ve never looked at a guy and like… thought about them, you know?”

“So what makes Billy different?”

He knows what she’s doing now. She wants him to talk it out so she can pick through the information dump and tell him what he needs to hear. She’s not mad, he reminds himself. He can tell her anything and everything. He loves her, and that’s why he wants to tell her. 

“He’s just, I don’t know, charming? In like a jerky kind of way, but it works for him somehow. I thought he was an asshole when we were hanging out with his friends my first night here, but I think he’s just got problems or something. I know about Frankie now, so maybe he just acts like that because he’s stressed out or scared.”

“What else?”

His left hand picks up petting the leather jacket splayed over his chest. It’s too stuffy in the room for this, but he won’t let it go. 

“He’s….” Steve’s face heats up a little, but he has to tell her. “I don’t know if this is the right way to say it, but he’s really pretty. For a dude.”

“Never heard that one before,” she says lightly. “What’s pretty about him?”

Steve shrugs and bites back a smile, explaining, “He’s got that California surfer hair, longer than mine and curly. It’s like the color of wet sand? He’s strong, too, like really strong. Like a brick house. And he’s just got a face that looks pretty, I don’t know how to explain it. He’s got, uh, blue eyes and they’re really bright, and the way he grins all the time…”

Nancy muffles a laugh. He thinks. Not a mocking one, just one of her laughs when she thinks he’s being cute. 

When she gets it under control, Nancy announces gently, “Steve Harrington, you officially have a crush on a boy.”

He whines and throws his left arm over his eyes. Nancy’s twinkling laugh helps soothe some of his confusion and his nervous stomach. If Nancy says so, then there’s no doubt. She wouldn’t lie or soften the truth for him. It’s not what he needs to hear. But now that he has confirmation, lets himself repeat it in his head—I like Billy—all that’s left is the awkward part about admitting to his girlfriend he has a crush. On someone else. 

The silence that permeates the phone call tells him that topic is next. He’s told her. Now he needs to figure out where they stand, how she feels about it. 

“Are you… mad at me?” He asks, all the fondness from talking about Billy gone. “I promise I didn’t do anything. I would never cheat on you, Nancy. Never.”

“I know you wouldn’t. I trust you.”

It means the world to him how she speaks softly to him and trusts him. Even after he’d practically gushed about Billy for the entire phone call, she trusts him. She doesn’t directly refute that she’s not mad, though. 

“So like… What happens now?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean like? Between you and me? You’ve gotta be upset that this happened, babe, I’m supposed to love you, only you. Your my girlfriend, Nancy, I’m not supposed to like anybody else!”

This frustrates him more than anything else. He loves Nancy more than he’s ever loved anyone, hates that he’s done this to them. He just doesn’t want her to hate him. 

“Do you wanna like break up with me? I understand if you do, I don’t want to, but I’m so sorry Nance, I—”

“Calm down, Steve, it’s okay. Are you listening to me? It’s okay.”

“But it’s not!” He tries not to sound hysterical, but he’s not good at keeping his voice calm when he’s upset. “It’s not okay, I’m not supposed to feel this way.”

“But why not? You can’t help how you feel, Steve. It just… happened. It’s not like you went out actively looking for trouble. It just happened.”

He nods and sits up, wanting to be close to her but knows that’s impossible. He holds Billy’s jacket tightly instead. 

“So you’re not mad?”

“I’m not angry. I… I admit I’m a little upset, not at you, just the situation. I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I don’t wanna hurt you,” he blurts out. “What should I do about this? He doesn’t know how I feel, and I wasn’t planning on telling him. What would it matter, you know?”

He gives a little laugh like when he calls himself stupid. It just reminds him that Billy doesn’t like it when he does that. 

“It matters to you. What do you want to happen?”

“I don’t know! I’ve never done this before!”

Nancy doesn’t say anything right away, thinking over what he’d just said. Steve doesn’t even know what he means by that, just hopes she understands. 

“You’ve never done this before… I get if you’ve never liked a boy before, but what do you mean? How is it any different from getting a crush on a girl? Or me?”

“It’s completely different,” he groans, exasperated. He falls heavy on his back again and stares with such awful sadness at the ceiling. “I don’t feel the same way about him like I do you. It’s totally different. Like I guess… When I think about you, I think about how smart you are and how you know what to say and do. And I think about spending time with you somewhere quiet—”

“Come on, Steve,” she says, teasing. 

“Not like that! Well, okay, yea like that too, but I mean I just like being around you and holding your hand and stuff. Going to dinner with… Barb’s parents and stuff.”

It’s dangerous to mention Barb, but once it’s out, he just steamrolls into his next thought.

“With Billy it’s different. I don’t think about him that way, can’t imagine sitting at a table somewhere and having a quiet meal with him. Billy is a little crazy, drives like an asshole. I want to push him back when he’s running his mouth. So I guess… you’re like a slow dance at prom and Billy is when everybody is throwing their arms around and shoving each other. I like both of those things. Does that make any sense?”

He worries he sounds like a complete dumbass. But it’s the only way he knows how to explain it in words. If he could paint a picture or play an instrument, maybe it would be different. Nancy is a violin while Billy is an electric guitar. Nancy is a masterpiece sitting in a museum and Billy is someone taking paint and throwing it straight from the bucket onto a brick wall. They’re not even close in his heart. He just knows he has separate rooms for them. He likes them for different things, in different ways. 

“That… actually does make sense,” Nancy says after a while. “I never thought about it that way before. Having feelings for people in different ways like that.”

“I kinda hate it.”

Her twinkling laugh is back as she agrees, “It sounds like you’ve thought about this a lot. Like it was weighing on you. Do you feel better now?”

Steve blinks, surprised, at the ceiling. 

“I… Yea, I do. I feel a lot better… But Nance, I still don’t know what to do about it. He and I bicker a lot, just talking a bunch of crap. But it’s fun and I… think about him. A lot.”

“Maybe you can like two people at the same time?”

“That’s a thing?”

“It must be, Steve.” Teasing again. “You like me—”

“I love you,” he corrects. It feels so good to say. 

“Okay, you love me. And you like Billy… Do you want to…”

She’s so pretty when she blushes. He’s missing the sight right now, but he can tell she’s flustered thinking about it. She knows what they do together. It’s logical to think he wants the same with Billy. It’s more complicated somehow—Steve shivers while thinking about how two guys fuck—but he just as easily pictures himself kissing Nancy and Billy. It feels… good. Natural. If only he could, and he hates to think he wants to kiss someone other than Nancy. 

“I-I think so? I’ve been trying not to think about it until I told you. It felt like a betrayal.”

“I understand—”

He cuts her off, “And it’s not that I don’t love you anymore or love you less or-or want to, uh”— his voice drops—“kiss Billy more than you. I want you both. Equally, I guess. It’s just different, you know?”

Nancy’s long pauses make him nervous, but he knows she’s just thinking. He tries not to just ramble as she collects herself. It’s a nervous habit, difficult to curtail, so he fidgets with Billy’s jacket instead. 

“I’m beginning to understand, I think. I think maybe I’ve felt that way before, too.” And she sounds so unsure, just like him when he’d been afraid she would be angry with him. “You just meet someone in the right circumstances, and even though it’s crazy and you’re faithful to your girlfriend or boyfriend at the time, you just can’t help but… feel so interested and attracted to that person.”

“Yea, exactly like that. You’ve felt that way before?”

He can’t help the little bit of insecurity. He’s telling her about his crush, and yet worries she likes someone else? Steve shakes his head to dispel that thought. He just waits in silence until Nancy speaks again, still so careful and unsure. 

“I think so. Like you, I just try not to think about it. Because I have you, and anyone else feels like—”

“Cheating?” He offers with a grimace. 

“Sort of, I guess. It’s not the same, but I worry you’d see it that way.”

“That’s what I worried about, too,” he breathes with a smile. “I never want to hurt you, Nance.”

“I know.”

He hesitates, teeth in his lip, before asking, “Will you tell me who it is? The other person you think about?”

And he already knows the answer before she admits softly, “I’m not ready to tell you. I’m still thinking about it a lot myself, my feelings and what they mean. I’m sorry.”

Steve shakes his head and rushes out, “No, no, don’t be sorry. You just told me that stuff like this happens. I can’t exactly be mad at you, and I’m not, I promise. I hope that… you figure it out. What you’re feeling. And maybe you can tell me one day.”

“Yea…” Distracted. Unsure. 

Steve rushes away from that sore topic and asks, “So what should I do about this? What are the rules?”

“Rules? What do you mean?”

“I mean!” His face is on fire again. “Like what if I see him again and it feels right and I want to, I don’t know, kiss him or something? So long as he doesn’t beat the crap out of me, I guess. But what I mean is that allowed?”

“You’re asking me?”

“Yes! You’re my girlfriend! I’m not gonna kiss someone without you knowing or-or without your permission. That’s dishonest.”

She’s smiling again when she mumbles, “I do love your honesty.”

“Nancy…”

No one witnesses Steve’s petulant wiggle on the bed. Nancy would probably laugh at him if she were here to see it. 

“I think that so long as I know what your intentions are, I’m okay with that. Do I want someone else to do that to you? Not exactly, but…” She sighs. “I know how you feel. Wanting to share that with someone you feel strongly about, but being afraid to do it. Of hurting me.”

“Exactly.”

A voice in the background yells something to Nancy. Her reply is muffled, hand most certainly cupping the bottom of the phone so she isn’t screaming in his ear. 

“I have to go, it’s dinner time here.”

His heart sinks, but he murmurs, “Okay.”

“Steve?”

“Yea?”

“Just… be careful. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

He nods and promises, “I won’t. I love you, Nance. And I miss you.”

“I miss you, too. I’ll see you when you get back, okay?”

“Okay,” he says, sure of the ground they’re on. 

The phone is a little gross when he hangs it up, hand sweating terribly throughout the whole conversation. Steve leaves Billy’s jacket on the bed, wanders to the window, and fights with it to open the damn thing. He needs some air after that, needs to get all the bad vibes in here out. The first rush of air sends the sheer curtain fluttering, so Steve shoves it out of the way. Below, kids scream and run around the sand. A shock of ginger hair catches his eye, and he watches a girl run back to her towel, the person lounging beside her towel. 

From this distance, even with sunglasses perched on his face, the guy looks like Billy. Steve’s first inclination is to run out of the hotel and head straight for them. If only to talk to Billy about earlier and apologize. Instead, Steve hikes a thigh up to sit in the alcove around the window. His attention splits between the ocean and the beach. It’s probably not Billy. Could be anyone.

Steve is still sitting there half an hour later when the lookalike and the redhead leave. Steve swears he sees the guy look up at him right before they cross from the beach to where cars are parked. He loses sight of them and doesn’t catch if they climb into a Camaro or not. It’s only when Steve’s stomach makes a terrible noise does he abandon the window. Food will be a good distraction as always from his thoughts. He could use a moment of peace. 


	8. Baby Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve apologizes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is late. I just never think about updating this fic. My bad.
> 
> I have a three-part ABO fic out right now called "Drop (The Game)" that is essentially the "it's bullshit" scene from season two. [But ABO.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22935445) And Billy is a lot more active in the aftermath. Check it out if you like ABO lol. I'm writing another ABO fic that's uhhhhh well you'll see if you check it out once it's posted.
> 
> Anyway, please enjoy and comment lol.

He doesn’t see Billy the next day. Even though Steve peeks out the window a bunch of times, Billy never appears. Steve doesn’t hear from Billy, either, even though he knows Billy could call the hotel just as easily as the first time. He takes to wandering the boardwalk nearby and loiter around shops, a park up the street from the hotel. He doesn’t actively seek places he thinks Billy will turn up. He doesn’t! It would just be nice to hear from him. The longer the silence goes on, the more Steve thinks it’s over and he’ll never see Billy again. 

Maybe Billy needs all this time to cool off. It’s Steve’s hopeful thought on day two when there’s no trace of him. Steve and his parents had arrived on Monday afternoon. Tuesday is when everything fell apart. Now it’s Thursday. Steve promises himself that if Billy doesn’t contact him by Friday night, he’ll wash himself of this whole thing. He can’t just turn his feelings off, can’t just stop thinking about Billy. But he’ll consider the matter done and begin moving on from this little crisis. 

The phone by the bed rings around 7 in the afternoon. The sky to the west isn’t even honeyed yet, but it will be in an hour. Lying spread-eagle on the bed, Steve considers ignoring the phone. Then again, what if it’s Nancy? What if it’s Billy? He frowns and thumps his head into the mattress. Is he actually going to sit here and pout and mope? He knows he just doesn’t want it to be Billy calling him only to tell him to fuck off or something. Still… Steve is a hopeful fool until the end. 

The phone has rung four times, starting on a fifth, when he rolls up and answers it. 

“Hello?”

“Hey Steve…”

It’s not Nancy’s voice coming out small and soft from the top of her throat. It’s Billy, growling a little over “hey” before his voice mellows out. Maybe it’d almost cracked or something. Steve’s does if he gets too excited about something. Like right now. 

Sitting up properly on the bed, Steve clings tighter to the phone. 

“Uh, hey man… What’s up?”

“Nothing, just… Whatever. Wanted to see what’s going on with you.”

Much like Nancy’s mom calling for her when they’d talked on the phone, a small voice whines something at Billy. Steve can’t make it out. 

“Jesus, fine I’ll ask,” Billy mumbles away from the phone. When he speaks again, he’s right against the receiver, almost reaching through it to play with Steve’s ear. “My dad is making me take Max to the drive-in tonight. Do you want to come?”

“Who is Max?”

“The girl you saw me with when we met. She’s my”—Steve can’t see it, but he feels Billy’s eyes roll with his attitude thick—“step-sister. I don’t want to be stuck alone in the car with her.”

Billy could ask anyone to go with him. It would be easy for him to just ask one of his friends. Steve steadies his breaths and tries not to dig too much. Just be cool. It’s cool. 

“Yea man, sure, I’m not doing anything. How much is it to get in?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Billy rushes out, speaks even faster with, “I’ll be by in ten minutes, be outside.”

And then he hangs up. 

Steve probably slams the phone down too hard. Whatever, who cares. He nearly trips over himself as he scuttles across the room to his suitcase. Unpacking this on the first day would have been a smart idea, but he’s not the brightest guy. Not stupid, he reminds himself while searching for something to wear. Not stupid. 

He certainly feels stupid while frantically trying to throw clothes together that don’t make him look like a “square” or hick. Whatever insult Billy can come up with. He only has his normal clothes, though! Some shorts and shirts, split between nicer polos and t-shirts with breast pockets. He needs better clothes. The one pair of jeans he’d brought with him are the only answer. Even if it’s too warm to wear them without sweating through them. A sniff test deems them clean enough, and then Steve is all arms and hair in his eyes as he shoves a shirt on. It’s the blue one, as opposed to the red one that might make him look silly in blue jeans. He doesn’t realize until he smooths his hands down his chest that it has a v-neck. Whatever. 

He stands dressed and staring at Billy’s jacket longer than necessary. Considering if he should bring it or not. 

The Camaro screeches only a little when Billy pulls up. Steve spills out of the hotel lobby at the same time and doesn’t have a chance to catch his breath before he’s throwing himself at the passenger door. Hard eyes glare at him from the backseat, but he offers Max a smile and wave anyway. Steve dumps himself in the Camaro and makes sure not to get anything caught in the door when he shuts it. It’s too warm right now for Billy’s jacket. He doesn’t take it off, especially when he turns to Billy in the driver's seat. 

Staying away from Steve had been… difficult. Billy’s fuse is shorter and rawer than normal. His cheek isn’t bruised anymore, courtesy of dad, but it throbs a little if he smiles too wide. And right now his mouth wants nothing more than to smile all the way up to his ears. Damn, doesn’t Steve look good in his leather jacket. The jeans are better than his preppy shorts. Fitting. Tight in all the right places. Steve’s v-neck shows off just the right amount of skin. Billy knows Max is in the backseat, impatient to get to the drive-in so she can fuck off and away from him. They’ve been… at each other’s throats the past few days. Frankie’s apartment has never been such a blessing, just so he has somewhere he can go and be alone. 

Now he’s not alone. Steve is in the front seat like nothing had happened. Like Billy didn’t bark at him to get out of the car like the junkyard dog Billy knows he is. Steve must not be too cut up about it, if he’s here. Billy’s hands tighten over the steering wheel as excuses and flimsy apologies crawl up his throat. Not now. Now isn’t the right time, especially not with Max right fucking here. Billy loosens his grip on the wheel and just enjoys the view of Steve for a second. He would wonder if he looks good to Steve, but he follows Steve’s brown eyes giving him a once over like a puppy chases his boy. 

Smile ticking up at the corners of his mouth, Steve says softly, “Hey, Billy.”

Billy deliberately doesn’t look in the backseats at Max. She’s too smart for her own good and will have him figured out in a glance. Little brat. So Billy just savers the softness in Steve’s voice, how his gaze darts away as he licks his lips, only for their eyes to meet again. Not for long enough as Max thrashes in the backseat and grumbles under her breath. 

“Let’s go already.”

Billy bares his teeth, but otherwise doesn’t say anything to her. The gear shift gives a satisfying clunk when he slams it into drive. They’ll get there when they get there, though, and Billy makes an honest attempt at driving like a normal person. The drive-in is up town, though, practically down the street from Frankie’s. It’s late enough in the day for the local traffic jams to be over. So while Billy doesn’t have the road to himself, he isn’t wanting to ram everyone else into the ditch to get by. Calmer driving allows for his attention to split carefully between the road and Steve. Casually and sly-like, of course. 

Just seeing Steve is like someone has pulled the cork on his rage. He might even be nice to Max tonight and give her the money dad shoved into his hands for the concession stand. Dad gave it to him with the implications of buying food for them. That isn’t necessarily how things will go down. But he thinks about it. Almost smiles, in fact. If not for the glare of the sun off slick concrete in front of them. Flipping the visor down doesn’t help, and his sunglasses are in the glove box. 

Turning his chin so his voice doesn’t fly right out the window, Billy says, “Hey Steve, open the glove box and grab my sunglasses.”

It’s less demanding than it could be. Billy almost says please, almost phrases it as a request. Without an objection or a snide remark, Steve reaches down to do just that. Billy keeps both hands on the wheel to avoid fidgeting or reaching out to touch Steve or something stupid like that. It’s all eye candy right now as Steve’s shirt lifts a little on his lower back and reveals skin, moles dotting him even there. He’s seen Steve shirtless, didn’t even know at the time what a treat that was. Wasted on a first meeting, too. 

Steve digs around in the glove box for the sunglasses. They’re the aviators with a gold mirror on them. The same pair Billy had worn on Monday when they met. Billy is lucky he was in swim trunks then, because he probably would have worn the same clothes, too. Steve is a prep and a snappy dresser, so he might have noticed if that happened. Billy grits his teeth and berates himself for even caring about that shit. Jeans, white t-shirt, jean jacket. Good enough. Steve’s opinion doesn’t matter—that’s what he tells himself.

He can’t sit still or relax, though. Steve finds the sunglasses and hands them over. Billy doesn’t fumble with them, even though he wants to just to touch Steve. It’s all he’s thought about once the anger over Steve’s ignorance passed him. Frankie wouldn’t be mad at Steve if he heard their conversation. Frankie would have told Billy to chill and just express himself instead of the bullshit he does. Billy cooled off the next day but felt too raw from his confession to Frankie to do anything about it. Maybe tonight he’ll figure something out. No thought-out plan, just feeling along the general vibe and working with it. Work smarter, not harder. 

It’s a Friday night, and the damn drive-in is packed. Kids running around before the movie starts, stirring up a cloud of dust and bug spray. Billy sneers and glares at every one of them who dart between the aisles of parked cars, begging for him to flatten them. At least the car behind him remembers to turn their headlights off once the group of them make it past the fare booth. He’s gotten into fights over less. 

Billy picks a spot as close as he can get to dead center. Not too far back, not too close. It’s the crowded part of the lot, but whatever. The kids will clear out once the movie starts. Unless some parents here don’t know what Jaws is about. A slick grin spreads across Billy’s face. Max has never seen Jaws. With any hope it’ll scare her. Just a little. 

Billy and Steve climb out of the car first, Steve leaving Billy’s leather sort of piled in the seat. Max shoves the passenger seat up to climb out with a grunt. She tries to dart off immediately, but Billy stops her. 

“Hey,” he snaps. “Get over here.”

Max sends her grey eyes rolling, but stomps back the short distance she’d made it. 

Cigarette already hanging off his lip, Billy fishes out the little wad of cash dad had given him. 

“Here.” He shoves some of the money at her. “Go wild.”

“Really?” She stares at the money and then up at him. And then at Steve loitering by the poles that used to hold speakers for the movie. Back before the soundtrack switched to radio. “What’s the catch?”

Hands on his knees, Billy bends until he’s face-to-face with Max. 

“The ‘catch’ is you disappear until credits roll,” he nearly growls, eyes keen on hers as she shakes a little. “I don’t wanna see you, hear you, I don’t even wanna smell you.”

Max’s little nose wrinkles at him, and she takes a hopping step back. 

“Whatever, weirdo.”

Weaving between cars and other people, she takes off. A triumphant smirk twitches on Billy’s lips for a brief second, and then he returns to his full height. When he takes a step towards Steve, those pretty eyes zip right over to him with a smile tugging at the corner of Steve’s mouth. Billy digs out his lighter from his pocket, flicks it to life, and just as quickly snuffs it out. Grey smoke curls from his lips on the first drag. It feels good to win. Max gone, Steve right here, and it’ll just be the two of them in the car. 

Billy blows cigarette smoke down wind of them and then nods behind Steve. 

“Concessions are that way if you want anything.”

A few nods and then, “Cool. Are you gonna walk over there?”

Billy grins a little around his cigarette. 

“Why? Would you like an escort, baby?” Billy shuffles closer and offers his arm, not entirely out of mockery. “Going my way?”

But Steve doesn’t snort or roll his eyes like Billy expects. No, instead Steve fidgets with his fingers a little and glances around. They are surrounded by people and yet alone. They’re nobodies in this crowd. Just… two boys hanging out. Still, Billy’s soft “baby” stirs up guilt in Steve. He wants to, needs to apologize for the way he’d acted on Tuesday. He needs to do that before playing along with Billy. He can’t pretend like he didn’t make a fool of himself. 

“Billy?”

Some of the bravado drops from Billy's face. His arm lowers, too. 

“What?” He grumbles. 

Steve turns in the dirt and gravel to face Billy completely. Why does it feel so much like a standoff? Like they’re about to come to blows? That’s not what Steve wants, so he shakes his arms and shoulders loose. This isn’t a fight. No matter how tense and squared-up Billy is. 

“I wanna apologize for what I said last time we saw each other. Or… I just wanna say I’m sorry for not knowing, uh, what the situation was. I didn’t mean anything by it. I messed up. I’m sorry.”

The apology sends Billy off kilter. Pokes a hole in him from chest to back and then blows a cool breeze over him until he burns. He’s almost sweating in the evening warmth and his jacket. But Steve’s honesty bowls over him like it’s not the middle of summer. No one has ever apologized to Billy. Not like this. It’s either his fault or people jump through hoops to subvert accountability. Trust Steve to lift the weight off Billy’s shoulders and mend the hurt with genuine remorse. 

“It’s-It’s fine, whatever,” Billy shrugs to cover up the little quiver in him. “No big deal.”

If Billy wants to admit it’s fine, then Steve is right there ready to go with that. His serious face breaks, and then he’s all grins. 

“I’m glad you’re not pissed at me. I really didn’t mean it.”

“Yea, yea, whatever.”

Billy waves Steve’s words away. He needs all his courage, and then more courage he doesn’t have, to step up to Steve, throw an arm around his shoulders, and walk them to the concession stand. Steve is warm and alive all along Billy’s left side. He doesn’t ever want to let go. 

“Don’t mention it,” Billy says around a grin. “Water under the bridge, right baby?”

Billy’s smell has worn out of the leather jacket a little. Steve knows because it’s starting to smell more like him. To have Billy’s arm thrown over him, their bodies tight and clothes rubbing between them, is a rush. Billy’s cologne is fresh on his skin instead of dwindling on leather and silk lining. Steve takes advantage of the inch between them to turn his head away, hiding the flush climbing into his cheeks. The sun is setting faster with every minute. Maybe Billy won’t see. 

Steve tries to pay for his own popcorn, has his wallet fished out of his pocket and everything. Billy grabs him by the front of his shirt, fingertips grazing into his chest through it, and sort of shoves him out of line. The other people queueing give them looks with their eyebrows in their hairlines and objections on their parted lips. But Steve just laughs it off hopping on a foot to keep his balance. If he catches Billy smirking down at his hands as he pulls out cash, Steve doesn’t mention it. It’s a secret just for him. 

Advertisements are finished by the time they sprint back to the Camaro. Steve trails behind Billy with a laugh in his throat, yelling for Billy to wait up, to not leave him behind. Billy’s laughter is mocking as he reaches the car first, acts like he’s locked Steve out. The windows are down, nothing stopping Steve from reaching in to attack him. Still, Billy stretches clear across the center console to hang on to the inside handle, denying Steve access. Outside, Steve ignores the glare of the patrons around them and howls with laughter. Inside, Billy cackles too and flicks Steve off for good measure. When he releases the handle, the door flies open and sends Steve right on his ass. 

“You’re such an asshole!”

Billy watches from his perch in the car, grin a little slick and eyes every slicker. Steve sits up on his elbows but still flat on his ass, legs splayed. He shakes his head at Billy, smirk easygoing. 

Billy shrugs with a pucker of his lips and brags, “What can I say? Frankie warned you to keep me out of trouble. I have a way of finding it, pretty boy.”

“Pft, more like you have a way of making it.”

Steve still shakes his head when he shoves himself to his feet once more. He pats himself down to knock the dust of the lot off him. Billy’s eyes are heavy on him, and Steve directs his away lest he watch Billy lick his lips one more fucking time. 

“You’re lucky you were carrying the popcorn, dick,” Steve huffs when he finally climbs back in the Camaro. 

Billy shrugs again and lights a fresh cigarette. 

“All according to plan, baby.”

Steve snorts and ignores the suggestive tone in Billy’s voice. Or chooses not to acknowledge it and wind Billy up immediately. This movie is two hours long. They’ll tear each other apart if Steve plays into Billy’s back-and-forth game. 

“Shit, did you get anything to drink?”

Billy gestures to the backseats. 

“Check the floorboards. Hopefully they didn’t roll around too much.”

Curious and amused, Steve plucks Billy’s leather jacket out from behind him and carefully tosses it in the backseats. He won’t reach all the way back there with the thick leather fighting his reach. With his toes braced against the floor, Steve arches back to pat around the backseats. He has to arch more and more, turn his body when he thinks whatever Billy has brought is behind him. The cooling breeze from outside reaches in to draw tickling fingers where his shirt rides up. Steve shivers and strains at last to hook his fingers around beer cans. 

“Got it! Fuck,” Steve sighs as he reels his prize in. “Did you steal these?”

Billy scoffs, “From my dad, yes. I’m a refined delinquent.”

“Sure,” Steve hums, tugs a beer free. 

When he offers it to Billy, Billy’s lips tug around his cigarette. He reaches for the beer with both hands, and Steve does not deny him. It’s more skin contact than necessary to take a beer from someone. Steve just snorts and assumes it’s just Billy being pushy. It’s safer to think it’s that than to think it’s Billy flirting with him. That would get his hopes up. 

The can isn't that cold when Billy pops the seal and takes a swig. It’s just enough chill to help drive the heat from his face. Steve naturally draws Billy’s eyes even in the middle of drinking. Mischief wears Billy well, and he tilts his head back to drink, just to give Steve something to look at. When he catches Steve blinking big eyes at him, Billy winks. 

“The show is that way, baby.” Billy gestures with the beer can. “It’s about to start.”


	9. Baby Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Billy watch _Jaws_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I literally sat through all three hours of _Jaws_ for the first and last time in my adult life, took NOTES while watching, and then wrote this chapter. Way back in January when I was writing this fic lol. Jesus that was forever ago fuck. Anyway, uhhhh enjoy lol.

The girl swimming in the ocean dying immediately isn’t something Steve expects. And never seeing the monster only makes it that much worse. Never knowing where it would come from, never knowing when it would return. The gratuitous blood. Beside Steve, Billy snorts as the actress screams in terror. Billy’s amusement is infectious, and it’s how Steve muscles his way past the ominous opener. 

Billy grins at him with popcorn almost cupped to his mouth and teases, “Don't go in the water.”

“Hah, yea…”

The shark makes appearances again whenever the scenes shift to the beach. Something about the police chief wanting to shut the beaches down during Independence Day celebrations… Because of the girl who died in the opening? Whatever. 

The first time Steve screams and jumps is when the chief and the scientist—what are their names? Don’t ask him—find a fishing boat with a corpse floating inside the hull. 

Billy expects the floater, doesn’t expect Steve to yelp and flinch so hard. Like someone has come up behind him and scared the living crap out of him. It shakes the car, and Billy can’t help but bark in laughter. 

“Chill out, baby, we’re just getting started. Don’t tell me that actually scared you.”

Steve has sunk back into the seat when he breathes, “Did you know that was coming?”

“Yea, I’ve seen the movie before.” Billy’s grin is a little mean. He likes watching Steve squirm. “I know when all the good parts are.”

Steve’s upper lip curls in a grimace, but he doesn’t rise to Billy’s bait. If Billy is telling the truth, that the scary moments aren’t through yet, then Steve knows he’ll jump and yell again. The shark and music and ambiance of the film are just too close to home. He recalls the smell of the diner that first night, how he thought of rancid air and damp flesh twisting in the dark. Steve steals the popcorn from Billy just to have something to do. He isn’t hungry anymore, and a beer can’t hope to take his edge off. 

Billy’s fingers are shiny with butter when he jeers, “Hey, who do you think is gonna die next? Fat chick, kid on the raft, or the guy with the dog?” Billy snorts to himself and adds as an afterthought, “Or maybe the dog.”

Steve musters another nervous laugh. The shark ends up killing the dog and the kid. 

Steve screams yet again not too much later. The crowd on screen hollers about the shark going into a cove area where some kids play with a miniature boat, trying to figure out how to sail it. The shark looms terrifyingly huge just beneath the water to snatch an adult trying to help the kids. Steve doesn’t notice the shark immediately, grey skin blending into the murky water. The moment he does, though, his legs curl up and he lets out a shout. 

“Oh fuck!”

To Billy, it’s all fun and games. Steve glances at Billy as his head throws back in a hearty laugh. Billy is a little weird for laughing at this. How does he think this is funny?

The shark makes another subtle appearance during the lull of the plot, islanders banding together to kill it. It menaces two bums on a rickety pier. This part is somehow more difficult to watch as it drags out. Steve presses himself flush to the seat and can’t help how he squints, like that will protect him. Logically, he knows no normal animal behaves like this. That this is a movie. The monster’s tenacity is what gets him. It’s intelligent, has a drive to kill things. He’d wanted to have a good time, and as the movie drags on, Steve finds that he’s not. And he hates that. 

Steve goes quiet next to Billy when the cop, scientist, and captain head out to sea. Billy wonders which parts will scare Steve next. That’ll get him going again, get Steve jumping and making aggravated noises. It’s cute until Billy turns his head to see Steve… sweaty and gritting his teeth. It’s only an hour into Jaws, but Steve looks like he’s run a marathon. The beers are between them, only half gone. Billy scowls at his greasy hands, wipes them on his jeans, and then twists a can free from the plastic ring. 

“Hey, Steve.”

It still feels strange to hear his name from Billy’s lips. Steve shakes himself a little and spies the glint of the beer can offered in Billy’s hand. Any distraction is worth it, and his first beer is probably gross and warm now anyway. Steve almost snatches the can out of Billy’s strong hand, pops the top, and then chugs half of it like an animal.

All the while, Billy watches him. He wants to dwell on the way Steve throws his head back, lips and throat working together to drink. But Steve’s nerves and how quiet he is have Billy frowning. Worried. 

“Hey, you all right?”

Steve gasps as he finally pulls off the beer and wheezes, “Yea, totally fine. Great, just peachy man, haha.”

And everything is fine! He’s being silly again. The monster is dead. Mike had told Nancy and Nancy told him. Mike literally watched some little girl like… obliterate it. With her mind or some shit. Although Nancy stressed the importance of secrecy and to never discuss anything that happened in November unless they’re alone and outside somewhere. She watched people from the government bug her house as they interrogated Mike. It’s a sore topic, since Barb is wrapped up in it. They have to continue like nothing changed, like nothing is wrong. Steve is fine with it. 

He’s fine. 

He’s fine until the power fails in the boat and sends the three heroes into the darkness of pre-dawn. And of course the fucking lights flicker and the ship groans before the power goes out. And the shark tries to come in through the hull, mindless of pain from the wood. Just wanting to kill. Steve grips tightly to one of his thighs and shivers. Shaking his head to work out the energy doesn’t work anymore. He wishes he could sit here and just watch this. It’s just a movie. It’s fake. Plus it takes place on the east coast, although Billy sneers that there are sharks here, too, but people rarely die from attacks. 

The movie shows him a tiny bit of mercy. Only a tiny bit. The captain destroys the radio on the ship at one point, and the chief wrestles the wooden club away from him to beat his frustration out. The club looks like a baseball bat but shorter. Steve’s hands flex in his lap as he remembers the heft of the weapon, how it’d felt natural to swing it and beat the shit out of that thing. The chief also fires his gun at the shark, cursing at it. Despite his stress from sitting here, Steve smiles at the screen anyway. 

Nancy. 

Billy catches that smile and wonders what it’s about. Steve has spent the whole movie jumpy and nervous. And a gun makes him smile? While the characters are in the middle of peril? Maybe his family is big on guns or something. They’re from the middle of nowhere, so it would make sense. Billy just wishes Steve would tell him what the hell is wrong. Steve isn’t afraid of water, if his brief trip to the beach means anything. And yea, sharks are scary, but it’s just a movie. They don’t even show it that much, which is a bummer. Billy frowns behind his beer can—they’ve dwindled down to the last one—and keeps a careful eye on Steve. He’d wanted to spend the time getting close and friendly. He can’t with Steve like this. 

If only Steve could cling to that little bit of happiness the memory of Nancy brings him. Even the gruff camaraderie between the three characters hunting to trap and kill the shark can’t keep him afloat for long. The scientist enters the water in a shark cage, and even before the shark begins to attack him, Steve knows what’s coming. His legs draw up from the floorboard again. Steve flinches with each smash of the shark into the cage. He’s breathing hard and fast, hurting himself with his nails cutting into palms. The shark bursts through the bars of the cage, all safety measures gone, and that’s when Steve can’t breathe anymore. 

“Hey! Where the hell you goin?!”

Steve spills out of the Camaro and into the night. He first falls on his side in his haste to run. The wild fear, of wet smells and water gurgling, chuckling around him in the dark sparks him back to his feet. Steve scrambles in the dirt and takes off at a dead run for somewhere. Anywhere. He just doesn’t want to watch anymore. As he runs with arms pumping and legs flying, the radios from other cars play a cruel game with him. On the big screen, the shark turns its attention to the ship. Steve gets a glance of the captain slipping down slick boards towards the open maw of the shark. Huge and terrible, the point of no return. Steve slaps his hands over his ears when the captain’s death screams begin in earnest. 

He flees with panicked heart and wild eyes checking every shadow. Trees line the property. There’s nowhere else to go. Nowhere is safe. The monster had popped up all over town with no regard towards locked doors, walls, anything. It could be anywhere, everywhere, nowhere. Steve’s shallow breaths don’t allow him to run much longer. He finds an old tree stump out by the bathrooms and collapses onto it. Instantly, Steve’s head is in his hands as he rocks himself, voice coming through every strained pant. 

Billy stops in the floodlight near the bathroom, panting and smacking bugs away from his face. What the hell is this all about? Steve can’t really be that big of a baby that a scary movie would do this. Fuck, it’s not even really scary! Billy pants with his hands on his hips, throwing a confused look around. Like someone will pop up and tell him what’s wrong. Shaking his head, Billy cards curls off his forehead and watches Steve’s back tremble. Shit is he crying?

That cools most of the irritated, burning acid about to climb up Billy’s throat and make him start talking smack. This is something else. Billy knows better than to walk up to Steve and touch him. Dad coming back from Korea alive with mental and physical scars has taught him that. Even years after the trauma, Neil Hargrove is a soldier ready to fight for his life. Even against his son. And Steve is a strong guy, not afraid to defend himself and throw a punch. Even if there’s no real threat. Billy’s cheek, the one Steve punched, twitches in an aborted smirk. 

Exhaling long and hard once to steady himself, Billy scuffs his boots loud in the dirt as he wanders closer. 

“Steve.”

Nothing. 

“Steve, can you hear me? It’s Billy.”

He doesn’t care who might hear him or see them. If anyone has anything to say about it, he’ll destroy them. At least this side of the lot is opposite the play area for kids. Some of them don’t care about the movie their parents brought them here to see. This part of the lot is mostly deserted. Thankfully. 

Closer now, Billy lowers his voice and says to Steve’s back, “You’re in California. You’re fine, man. There’s nobody here who’s gonna hurt you.”

How badly he wants to reach out and touch Steve. To comfort him and bring him back. Billy’s hands aren’t made for such things, but he wants to try. Every hardened instinct in him screams to not do that. Steve isn’t dad. Shell-shock is shell-shock regardless of circumstance. Billy’s fists tighten at his sides as he wars with himself, helpless to watch Steve hyperventilate a little. 

Shoes scuff in the dirt behind Billy, and he whips around with his fists ready. Max jumps back with wide, worried eyes glancing between Billy and Steve. 

“Billy…”

“Go back to the car,” he spits.

“What’s wrong with him?”

“I said go back to the car, you little shit. We’re leaving.”

When Billy twists back to Steve, he finds strong hands scrubbing through Steve’s hair. His back doesn’t tremble as much anymore, but every little sound of the drive-in and woods around them makes him jump. Billy takes a step closer still, and his heart sours when Steve jumps to his feet, nearly tripling when he spins around. He’s wide-eyed and afraid for a split second, looking around wildly before he tunes into Billy and Max standing there. 

“Oh, uh, hey guys…”

Behind Billy, Max sneers, “What’s wrong with you?”

She gets it from him, has her own honed meanness just to survive. Still, Billy throws a murderous glare over his shoulder. 

Steve’s laugh is nervous, isn’t fooling anyone. 

“Nothing, just uh needed some air. I think I drank too fast or something. You know.”

Billy gives Steve’s shaking body a pointed look and then regards Max again. 

“Go back to the car. We’ll be right there.”

He needs her gone to get anything out of Steve. If he can get anything out of Steve. Steve is wound up tight in his own bullshit just like Billy is. Billy has felt along that murky truth for a while now, has known something is up with Steve. Something about the movie had done the trick, coaxed and urged Steve’s demons out until he literally ran from them. Surfing does that to Billy. That’s why he still doesn’t surf even now. Won’t even touch a board. Even the drifting smell of polish gets his throat tight. 

Max mumbles something that sounds full of attitude and skepticism. Billy ignores her, waits until quiet falls over them before approaching. The tree stump is between them when Billy comes to a stop with his thumbs in his pockets, hip cocked. 

“Steve.”

“Yea man?”

Steve tries for a smile, but it comes out more like a wince. The woods still have him nervous. Billy must notice. He’s got that hard look in his eyes, that tightness in his lips like he’s ready for a fight. Steve wishes there were something he could say to get Billy to drop this. Steve tells Nancy all the time that everything is fine, he’s fine, it doesn’t matter. If he says it enough, it’ll become true. 

“Listen,” Steve tries, “that, uh, don’t worry about me. I’m fine, really. I just needed some air.”

“You’re full of shit.”

Well. Nancy never pushes back when they brush against the topic of… this. His nightmares, how he can’t sleep at night, his memories… And whenever he’s about to break and wants to talk to her about it, he knows they can’t. Signed their lives away after everything’d happened. Nancy says she’s okay. They can’t talk about it. They need to be fine, and so they say they are. 

Steve shrugs with his face all tight and drawls, “Nah, I’m good. Really.”

Over Steve’s shoulder in the woods, Billy spies some fellow teenagers making out against a tree. He would give practically anything right now to not be having this confrontation with Steve and instead just grind on him and kiss him breathless. The couple must make a noise, a snapped branch or something, because all the color drains out of Steve. He whips around, actually crouches a little and throws an arm out like he means to protect Billy from… something. He’s breathing all hard again when Billy steps around the stump and grabs Steve by an arm. 

“Steve, cut the bullshit, something freaked you out. Fucking talk to me, man.” Steve won’t meet his eyes when Billy throws a hand around to gesture to the woods. “Nobody is here to hurt you. And if they were, I’d fucking kill them.”

When Steve still stares blank and lifeless somewhere near Billy’s chest, he can’t take it anymore. Ignorant to the people all around them, Billy grits his teeth and steps into Steve’s personal space. A flinch runs through him, and Billy catches it with his hands on Steve’s hips. Steve shudders again, and doesn’t that feel good, but this isn’t the time. Billy anchors Steve to the earth, to California, to him. Anywhere but inside his head where whatever had happened to him in November is still very real. Billy tightens his hands over Steve’s hips until he’s sure it hurts, that he’s pinching skin to the knobs of bone. 

Steve winces but doesn’t push Billy’s hands away when he murmurs, “That hurts.”

“Good. I’m glad it hurts,” he says with not as much meanness as he could. “Maybe that’ll pull your head out of your ass and you’ll stop lying to my face.”

“What’s your problem, man?”

Billy sucks a loud breath this his nose to not start yelling. 

“You running away like you’re the last girl in a slasher flick is my problem.” Billy purses his lips to not lick them right in Steve’s face. He’s already staring at them. They’re close enough to feel each other breathe. “Tell me what happened.”

Does Steve even want anyone else to know? It’s a private sort of suffering, or one he shares uniquely with Nancy and Jonathan. He wants Billy’s demand to irritate him. Wants to fight back against Billy’s entitlement to private stuff going on with him. But… hadn’t Steve inserted himself into the mess of Billy’s life with Frankie? He made a fool of himself, as he tends to do. He did it because he cares about Billy in some timid way and wants to know him better. Wants to help. Steve blinks the last of his panicked haze from his eyes and deflates in Billy’s grasp. He almost leans into Billy for support, but prying eyes are surely watching. 

“I’m… I’m sorry, I’m a little fucked up from the thing I mentioned, from November?”

“I remember,” Billy says gruffly. “You wanna clue me in on that?”

Steve’s careful look around doesn’t escape Billy. The immediate, imagined threat is gone. Now the real threat of the public takes its rightful place. Sure that Steve isn’t going to run or fall apart again, Billy peels his hands away. He has to force himself to do it, worse than a bandaid, but he has to. 

Steve drags a shaking hand through his hair once, twice, and then throws his hand back down. 

“Billy, I… wouldn’t even know where to start.”

And he sounds so hurt, so helpless. They’re still close enough for Billy to twitch his hand forward and brush Steve’s, their knuckles bumping. It’s the only reassurance he can offer. Steve perking up a little with stars practically in his eyes makes the risk worth it. 

“Why not at the beginning, then?” Billy shrugs. “Seems like the most logical place to start anything.”

Steve’s mouth opens and closes as he attempts a few replies. He settles on a cautious, “Yea.”

Billy is the one to break the bubble around them. He steps back with bright eyes on Steve, lets a pleased smile tug at his lips when Steve shuffles to follow. If the world weren’t so shitty, or one of them were a girl, it’d be nothing to just take Steve’s hand and walk him back to the car. Even here they’re not safe. Billy sniffs hard to brush off that reality and leads the way back. He throws casual glances over his shoulder to make sure Steve is close behind. 

Max is dutiful and already in the backseat when they walk up. Steve gives a bashful duck as he picks up the beer cans and popcorn bucket he’d spilled everywhere in his haste to run. Billy knows Max is watching them, but he doesn’t care. She may have suspicions, but she doesn’t know anything. Billy waits for Steve to throw the trash away and curl down into the car before he joins them. A cigarette is what he needs right now to occupy his thoughts and hands. To get everything in order. 

“Sorry,” Steve says in the quiet of the car. “I made you miss the last ten minutes.”

Billy’s Zippo flicks shut and he says over the first plume of smoke, “Don’t worry about it. Already seen it a bunch of times.”

Steve nods, plays with his fingers, and then asks, “Do they kill the shark?”

“Yep. They blow it to fucking pieces.”

It must mean something to Steve. That the heroes were victorious. Billy hopes to find out why that means so much to Steve that he sighs and relaxes into the passenger seat, exhausted. 

“I gotta drop Max off first, but after that we can head out.”

Steve hums and nods with his eyes closed. His hands are loose in his lap like he could just fall asleep. Billy stares hard at those hands for longer than he should. They’d shook so much during Steve’s panic. And then carded through his hair so roughly, a nervous tick. Billy sighs through his nose and pays attention to the road. To think he’d almost held Steve’s hand, wanted to so much. Frankie’s voice echoes in his head, telling him that it’s okay to feel this way. For the first time in Billy’s life, he’d rather help someone than tell them to stop being a pussy about it. He’ll have to thank Frankie—for everything—the next time he visits. 


	10. Baby Part III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve tells Billy what happened in November.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Deep sigh. Oh Steve.

With Max gone, they turn east and drive away from the coast. Steve soon enough recognizes the swanky neighborhood when Billy parks on the street. Frankie’s. It’s better than them sitting in a dark spot somewhere. Better than Steve maybe having to sneak Billy back into the hotel room. Has Steve seen his parents once since landing? Who cares.

Steve rolls out of the Camaro, body heavy from all that panic draining him. He could sleep right now, somewhere warm and quiet. Billy’s jacket helps. Maybe Billy won’t mind him crashing on the couch. The movie hadn’t started until after 8, and nearly three hours later, it’s late. 

Something possesses Steve to linger at the rear end of the Camaro for Billy rather than climb up to the top floor. Billy wanders around casually, sucking the last of his cigarette down before grinding the ember out under his boot. He catches Steve leaning against the rear wheel well like he’s surprised. Like he thought Steve would go ahead. It’s Steve’s turn to watch Billy fidget with something, the thumb of his left hand curling up to rub the silver on his middle finger. Steve takes a moment to just look at Billy, to take him in, before he nudges himself off the Camaro. 

“So that night,” Billy begins, “when I found you running around before the ass crack of dawn. Was it because of this… thing? You got going on back home?”

Steve nods. 

“Yea.”

Billy angles his eyes somewhere around Steve's chest and nods. A purse and lick of his lips as he thinks about it, and then blue eyes lift again. 

“I’ve been thinking about that. You still gonna tell me the story behind it?”

He asks that like he’ll let Steve off the hook. And maybe he would if Steve freaks out enough. As it is, he’ll have to concoct some lie that’s just out of step from the truth. If he wants to be as truthful as he can, which he does. Why lie to Billy now?

When Steve nods, Billy jerks his head in the direction of the building. Steve follows close behind. They climb the stairs silent in the night, Billy’s boots heavy on concrete and Steve’s sandals scratching the grit as they go. How he hadn’t managed to trip and break his neck while running at the drive-in, he’ll never know. Luck. Or it wasn’t meant to be. Whether fate exists or not, Steve likes to think everything came together so he and Billy would meet. Ships passing in the night, but it’s something. 

Frankie’s apartment is dark and stuffy when Billy unlocks the door. Steve sheds Billy’s leather jacket to hang it on a hook in the wall. Boots off in a flash, Billy turns a lamp on and pries a window open before Steve even claims a spot on the couch. Steve takes a spot near an armrest with the assumption Billy will sit with him. It’s a full-sized couch. Not a love seat. So when Billy hesitates, flinches forward like he’ll take the middle seat but ultimately claims the other side of the couch, Steve isn’t surprised. Disappointed. But not surprised. 

“So,” Steve drags out, making eye contact in the soft light. “My story.”

With Steve’s preamble, Billy gets comfortable. He takes up the middle cushion with his legs crossed at the ankles to leave his feet dangling off the couch. He drapes himself in that corner like a king on his throne. Slouching with his arms spread, he’s ready to talk about Steve’s… issue. Steve wishes he were that comfortable. 

“I’m all ears, baby.”

Steve snorts a laugh, rolls his eyes. Billy had been careful with the pet names around Max. He doesn’t want to get his hopes up and think they actually mean something. But why censor himself in front of her if it means nothing? Steve shuffles in his corner of the couch, seeking comfort and not finding it. Squirming won’t speed this along. 

“So…” Steve instantly stops and scrubs a hand through his hair. “Fuck, where do I even begin, um…”

Through his bangs, he watches Billy shuffle and relax farther into his sprawl. 

“Take your time.”

Steve sighs and folds himself up on the couch. Maybe keeping Billy’s jacket would have been a good idea. The open window is a blessing as it lets in fresh air and the gentle sounds of night. He’s not quite cold, but…

Billy rises in a fluid motion to stand from the couch. Steve makes a noise of confusion, protest, but Billy doesn’t acknowledge it. He crosses the room to the recliner nearer to the TV, whip off the blanket draped along the back of it, and then throws it over Steve. With Steve sputtering and view of Billy blocked, Billy spares the jumping lump under the blanket a little smile. He just as quickly wipes that fondness away when Steve’s head pops out with his hair messy and in his eyes. 

“I wanna say thanks for the blanket, but…”

Billy detects the insult, the name calling, and winks at Steve as he reclaims his spot. 

“You’re welcome, baby. Anyway, you were saying?”

Steve tugs the blanket up around his neck and ears, tucks the edges under his body to trap the heat. He’s more comfortable, now. As comfortable as he can be. 

“Okay, so in November last year right around Thanksgiving, this kid in my town went missing. Like no trace missing, huge search parties, that kind of missing. And then other people started going missing. Some…”—Hawkins Lab employees—“people who worked at this hospital place, two hunters, uhh…” Barb. “A girl who I went to school with. It was nuts.”

“You live in a small town,” Billy says with a frown. “If four or five people went missing like that, it would have been in the news.”

“Six,” Steve corrects. “The fucked up thing is that only the first kid survived. He was found in”—The Upside Down—“uh, like a… Ah shit, I don’t remember, but anyway he survived.”

“Okay?”

Steve sighs. 

“So… Okay, the thing about this whole story I need you to understand: I've never told anyone before. I’m technically not supposed to talk about it, and it’s why the story never made it to the news and shit.”

“Why?” Billy also, face pinching and eyes narrowing. 

“It’s cuz of, uh, the thing that was attacking people.”

Now he comes to a crossroads. Does he tell Billy the truth? The truth that the telling of which has been implied enough to get him killed? Nancy stressed it to the point of tears. Ah, but he’s not good at lying…

“So what the hell was it?”

“It was like this… animal experiment gone wrong? Or some shit? Maybe a rabies experiment, something. The government made everyone involved sign these gag papers so we won’t blab it to a newspaper or whatever. But anyway, the first kid to disappear, his name’s Will, his mom and brother didn’t give up on him. Then his brother? Figured out somehow”—flashing Christmas lights—“how to attract the animal or something, and me and my girlfriend Nancy helped him trap it and try to kill it, but…”

Steve keeps talking, getting a little animated under the blanket as he describes Nancy’s master plan. Bear traps and yo-yos. Billy disengages after the word “girlfriend” leaves Steve’s lips. Ah. There it is. The familiar, acidic bite of smug disappointment. He’d been right. Billy knew all along Steve was straight. And there was the proof falling from those pretty lips. Billy sucks in a deep breath to steady himself. It burns all the way in, and he holds it just to deepen the ache. When he exhales, Steve pauses mid-word and blinks at him, mouth open. 

“Are you okay?”

“Of course,” Billy says with a slight wag of his head. “Keep going.”

Steve closes his mouth, but he continues to watch Billy carefully. Steve’s gaze takes the scenic route down Billy’s body to his socked feet. They tremble a little. Like maybe Billy is cold. Frowning, Steve disturbs his cocoon to tug a corner of the blanket out from under him. He flicks it towards Billy’s legs and kicks out for good measure until Billy’s feet have cover. 

“So anyway,” Steve continues, slouching into the arm again, “eventually some people cornered the animal at the middle school, and they killed it. And like I said, Will and all the kids and me and Nancy and Jonathan were all okay. Oh and Jonathan’s mom and the chief. But the fact that I saw the monster, you know? It was…” Steve’s face twitches into something terrified for a second before he shrugs. “It was a lot like Jaws popping up everywhere. It was relentless.”

Billy nods. He hadn’t heard the middle part there. Apparently Steve trying to help kill the animal or whatever and being up close and personal with it. Something about a baseball bat. He could have died. Steve throwing the blanket over him, body heat drifting off him to soak through Billy’s jeans and socks, distracted him immediately. Sure the corner ends on Billy’s shins. But like this, he’s almost touching Steve. If the situation were more agreeable, they’d do just that. 

This issue of Steve’s girlfriend… That complicates things. He’s been a home-wrecker a few times. Sometimes just to cause trouble. Sometimes on purpose. What would Steve’s little hick girlfriend think of all the things he’s imagined about Steve. Doing to and with Steve. It almost brings a sneer to twitch on his upper lip, but Billy contains it. Steve’s girlfriend must be something. This Nancy girl. She’s got it made with a boy like Steve. What he wouldn’t give to be in that position for even a second...

“So yea, that’s why I have trouble sleeping and why I spazzed at the movies. I’m not supposed to talk about it, so. I wanna say sorry for that, but it wouldn’t be sincere so.”

Billy startles out of the thick haze that had settled over him. Thinking about Steve’s girlfriend will get him nowhere. Steve’s a big boy. He has the power to say no if the opportunity should arise. Steve needs to have that power, because with each orbit around each other, Billy feels the pull more and more. They’ll crash into each other at some point. It may only be once and then done. Whatever Steve will give him, Billy will take. 

Through the blanket, Billy picks up on a subtle tremor. One or both of them is cold, and he’s not sure it’s entirely Steve. Billy should get up and close the window. He’ll drift to sleep with Steve here. Using this time together in a more productive way is what he’d rather do. Billy glances to Steve’s unsure eyes before gently rising. Billy closes the window and then considers his jacket. He’s cold enough to leave it on. But for the next step he’d like to take, he wouldn’t need it…

It’s Steve’s turn to perk up in surprise. Billy sheds his jacket to add it to the hooks. When he crosses the room, he does not lounge at the far end of the couch. This time, he steals the edge of the blanket over Steve’s right hip and snaps it up. Steve barks a yelp at the flood of cooler air sapping the bundle of warmth he’d made. Billy’s weight falling to the middle cushion, thick body caging Steve between him and an arm of the couch, sends the springs to groan. It helps cover up Steve’s sharp inhale and the tiny whine he makes. When Billy slips under the covers, their legs brushing, the heat ratchets up to 11. 

Quiet falls over them now with the window closed. It’s a calm street, calm night. Billy waits with his heart in his throat for Steve to laugh this off, to tell him to quit being a jerk. To get away from him. Billy doesn’t even bother to tug the blanket higher than his waist. What’s the point in getting comfortable if he’s just going to have to play this off as a joke? If Steve objects. But oh how he wants Steve to agree, to give a silent, ‘Yes this is okay.’ Billy keeps his head angled towards Steve to take in his every expression, every blink, every twitch. 

The rejection never comes. In fact, seeing that Billy might not have enough blanket to actually cover the right side of his body, Steve gives Billy more slack. Strong hands on top of the blanket, Billy only hesitates for a second before spreading out that slack. Steve’s easy smile is ready when Billy glances at him next. It lasts until Steve sighs and tilts his head back, happy that Billy believes him. If he hadn’t, if he detected a lie, Steve didn’t have a plan B. 

“Well, mmm,” Billy’s voice almost breaks, and he clears his throat a few times. “Well, that sounds like it fucking sucked, and I’m glad whatever it was didn’t eat your ass.”

Steve huffs a laugh and says before he thinks about it, “Yea good thing, otherwise you’d be missing out.”

He smiles through his words and even a little after while watching Billy. A laugh or smirk should follow, Billy volleying the banter back at him. Billy just sits there with wide eyes looking bluer than ever. Steve’s smile slips off his face like syrup spilling over the edge of a bottle. Billy just stares and stares with his pink lips parted and expression unreadable. Is he pissed? Grossed out? Offended? Fuck, Steve hadn’t meant anything, like, gross about it. Just if the monster killed him, then they never would have met…

Billy snorts during Steve’s internal meltdown. He snorts again, then bites his lower lip, and then launches his head back to laugh to the ceiling. Of course he knows Steve hadn’t meant anything sexual by it. He probably would have started giggling or smiling too widely through saying it. Billy takes a desperate breath and then laughs through the next ones. It’s the sort of laugh that would make Max nervous. Steve’s shoulders shrink up near his ears, so Billy curtails his warm amusement to smile at Steve. All fondness, no grins. 

“You got that right, pretty boy.”

Billy’s voice tickles even his own ears. And he eats up the shiver Steve tries to fight.

“Billy, listen man, I-I didn’t mean anything, like, bad about that, I just meant—”

“It’s cool, Steve, I know what you meant.” Billy slips his hands under the blanket to pat his pockets. Thankfully, his cigarettes and lighter are here and not in his jacket. A lucky break. He speaks again only once the cigarette dangles in his lips. “I’d know if you meant eating ass.”

A slim hand diving through Steve’s bangs precludes him laughing. Much like Billy moments ago, he tilts his head back against the couch to really let it out. Billy’s cigarette hangs between his fingers as he watches Steve, not meaning to lick at his bottom lip but doing it anyway. Grey smoke blooms around Steve with Billy’s next exhale, giving him an ethereal glow in the low light. Steve waves the smoke away with a slight cough, eyes wet behind the hand he cups over that cough. 

“What are you smoking?”

“Just a cigarette, baby. Although I bet you’ve never smoked menthols before.”

“Uhh…” Steve hesitates while thinking. The smokers he had hung out with at school mostly smoked Parliament Lights like him or Pall Malls, some shit like that. “No, I don’t think so? I’ve heard it’s different, cool like gum or whatever. What’s it like?”

Billy freezes with the cigarette filter just touching his lips. Through the wisp of smoke off the cherry, Billy watches Steve’s face. For a twitch, a sign that he’s joking. Certainly he means for Billy to explain or to hand over the pack and lighter. Billy has a better idea. 

Steve’s heart skips a beat when Billy locks eyes with him and leans closer. Steve is too busy staring back to notice Billy’s left hand holding the cigarette towards him. Billy’s carefully stoic expression breaks slowly into something warm and amused. Smile easy on his face, Billy barely jerks his head towards his hand, the burning end facing away from them. The filter is towards Steve, held between Billy’s index and thumb. It must be weird for Billy to twist his arm like that. 

Blinking through a little smile he aims right back at Billy, Steve reaches up to take the cigarette from him. Billy’s eyebrows arch up, and he pulls his hand away from Steve’s reach. Steve makes a face, just a little attitude, and leans forward for Billy. A breath. And then Billy carefully slips his hand to that short jaw, holding the filter up to Steve’s lips. 

The pressure on his lips as he takes a drag isn’t even a blip on Steve’s radar. His eyes slowly shutter before Billy’s cigarette connects. Once there, the rough pads of Billy’s fingers carefully brushing across his mouth is all he feels. Then the slight wetness of the filter floats over him slick like oil after a summer shower. Billy isn’t lippy with the filter. Just enough to know he’d taken the first drag. The menthol is cool next, but it could just as well taste dry and stale like an old pack. Steve doesn’t taste it. It’s just Billy, how close they are, and the tingling at Steve’s lips from that barest touch. 

His mouth only has so much room for smoke. He’s not much of an inhaler unless it’s weed. Steve’s eyes barely open, just a speck of warm brown when he leans back to exhale. It’s either that or breathe all over Billy’s hand, accidentally lick his fingers when Steve swipes at the dry spot the filter leaves behind. Billy has smoked this cigarette, too. His lips were there. And now Steve’s as well. 

Steve doesn’t mean to exhale in Billy’s face. That’s an asshole thing to do, something Billy has probably done before. The smoke escapes in tendrils from Steve’s lips before he blows in a thick stream. The menthol comes alive in the back of his throat then. It cools on the way out and leaves his voice feeling used and rough. Or maybe that’s the heady stare Billy aims his way with shadows falling over his face. Steve sits the rest of the way back and shivers, draws the blanket tightly to him again. 

“That was… different,” he rasps, voice failing a little. 

Billy just hums and sits back against the couch. When he takes the next drag, he makes sure to watch Steve. Billy imagines he can feel the exact spot where Steve’s lips were mere seconds ago. That’s silly no matter how the thought makes Billy’s insides twist. Luckily for him, if this were to go any further, the blanket hides anything that would give him away. 

One of Frankie’s clocks begins to chime as the second and minute hand roll over to twelve midnight. The boys jump together at the first note. 

“Fuck!”

“Shit!”

They curse as one and then share that exasperation as the clock goes through the motions. Steve wiggles deeper into the couch, sliding on his tail bone until he slouches. His legs brush more against Billy’s, and Steve mumbles an apology when he thinks his foot nudges Billy’s. He doesn’t mean to take up so much space… Billy should probably take him back now. Or let him stay, if Lady Luck is on Steve’s side tonight. 

Wiggling deeper still, Steve whines, “I’m tired.”

“Yea?”

Steve watches Billy roll forward to flick ash into the ashtray on the coffee table. He sits up a moment more to take a last drag and then stamps the rest of it out. The apartment is hazy with the smoke. Steve almost whines along with the couch when Billy stumbles to his feet and makes for the window again. Billy’s warm spot abandoned, Steve slaps and kicks the blanket over it. Steve bunkers down with the blanket up to his shoulders while Billy stands at the window, letting the night breeze play with his curls. 

“Tired huh?” Billy asks with a drawl, a sideways look. “What are we gonna do about that, baby?”

Steve shrugs. 

“Do you mind taking me back to the hotel?”

“Why?”

Blinking, Steve says carefully, “Because… I’m tired?”

Billy gestures to the hallway that leads away from the living room and kitchen. 

“Frankie’s bedroom is back that way. You can sleep in his bed.”

“Are you sure? Like, I don’t mind the couch, Billy. You’re the one who sleeps here, so…”

Billy turns fully towards Steve with his hands on his hips and hums. 

“See, I’ve been sleeping on the couch since Frankie went to the hospital.” He nods towards Steve. “You’re in my spot.”

Steve’s voice freezes in his throat, tries to stop him from asking a question that will surely piss Billy off. 

“Did you sleep with him before then?”

The silence that envelops them is tense on Billy’s part and mortified on Steve’s. Steve’s hands act on their own, clutching the blanket to his chest. He hadn’t meant it like that. Fuck, why does he always do that? Open his mouth and shove his foot right in…

“Yea, I did. If you mean did I ever sleep in the same bed as him.” Billy shifts his weight to the other hip and raises an eyebrow. “And if you mean did I ever fuck him, then also yes.”

Steve’s chin wags with the attempt at a few responses, all coming up short. He settles for a stricken, “Billy he’s…”

“Frankie suspected he had some kind of illness before we ever met. He was careful and used condoms with all his partners once he suspected. Me included.”

Steve gives a withered, “Oh,” like someone punched the air out of him. 

Billy steps up to the coffee table and continues, “He wanted to avoid infecting me at all costs. It ruins lives, and Frankie didn’t wanna ruin mine.” Billy’s stare loses some of its harshness, turns a tiny bit mischievous. “And if you’re curious, which you probably are, he only ever fucked me with his fingers. And a dildo or two. Couldn’t risk it.”

Billy gives his hips a little shake and finally breaks into a filthy grin when Steve’s mouth twists in shock. He tries and fails to call up words. Only a quiet noise escapes when he fails. With Steve off kilter like this, Billy swings his body around the coffee table to stand in front of him. 

“Hah, are you waiting for me to say ‘sike’ or ‘kidding’? You’re red to your hairline, baby doll.”

He reaches out with thick fingers to Steve’s hairline. He does what he’s watched Steve do tens of times and scoops Steve’s bangs to the left. Towering above Steve like this rips a shiver out of Billy. He sinks white teeth into the corner of his lip and enjoys the way Steve’s eyes flick down to his mouth to watch. Billy’s greedy hand cards through Steve’s hair once more, drops down to his warm cheek to thumb it, and then finally falls away. In Billy's ultimate dream, he would grab Steve by the jaw and hold him still while taking his breath away. 

Steve isn’t done with him, though. Steve nearly brains himself with his own hand in his rush to free it from the blanket and snatch Billy’s wrist. The joints tense immediately in Steve’s hand, and Billy pulls against Steve’s grip. Billy’s strength lifts Steve up, and he scrambles to get his knees under him. Billy taking a shuffling step back upsets Steve's balance. He doesn’t mean to slap his hand hard against Billy’s bicep, but he needs it for balance. Otherwise he’ll fall all over Billy. 

“Billy,” Steve breathes, clinging to Billy’s arm with both hands now. 

It takes everything in Billy to keep his face calm and neutral. He’s probably blushing a little, Steve gets to him like that, but the sun kiss of his skin hides it well. The lamp casting him in shadows helps, too. 

What should he do? With Steve cornered into the couch, focus all on Billy’s face. Now would be the time he’d sweep anyone else into breathless kisses and shove them down to feel them, to press the weight of his strength into them. But even as Billy hunches above Steve and thinks about all the maybes and possibilities, he knows he won’t do anything. Steve’s shock is still fresh on his face, in the way his eyebrows meet in the middle. But he’s tired, too. He barely fights Billy’s arm hauling him into his knees. Steve doesn’t want a fight. 

Billy lowers Steve until he sits again. Steve doesn’t let him go. Billy’s right hand is free to drift up and trace the shell of Steve’s ear. 

“Where do you wanna sleep, Steve? Couch or bed?”

Steve takes a breath in through his mouth and counters with, “If I choose bed, will you… sleep there too?”

He phrases it so carefully. Billy holds their intense stare and only breaks it with a scoff. Like it’s no big deal that Steve wants to sleep next to him. Him phrasing it that way makes it obvious how Steve avoids asking Billy to sleep  _ with _ him. So that Steve’s intentions cannot be misconstrued. Sleep is what Steve wants. Sleep is what Billy will give him. 

“If that’s what you want.”

But Steve frowns, tugs on Billy’s arm, and says, “But is it what you want?”

What a brat, making Billy say it, too. 

Teeth gnashing and eyes rolling, Billy grumbles, “Obviously.”

That washes the last of Steve’s shock away. He’s soft and sleepy smiles up at Billy, oblivious to how such tenderness blows him away. He hadn’t told Billy sleeping beside someone helps with the nightmares. To tell Billy though would make him think Steve is just using him. Sleeping next to Billy sounds… nice. To get what he wants, though, he needs to get off the couch. Steve peels his hands away from Billy’s wrist and bicep. He has to rub the feeling of warm skin and power from his palms. And he has to wait for Billy to back up and let him off the couch. 

When Billy doesn’t budge, Steve rolls his eyes. Two fingers poked into that firm chest send Billy rocking back on his heels. Billy stumbles back like a ragdoll but catches himself in the next stride, grin lazy. Tired. Billy is just as tired as him but won’t admit it. Steve lingers at the couch long enough to at least fold the blanket a few times instead of leaving it all messy. Shuffling of feet and a deliberate poke to his side—ticklish—almost have him scurrying to the bedroom down the hall. 

So this is happening. Billy trails behind Steve just to have a moment to collect himself. He guesses he’s sharing a bed with Steve tonight. To sleep. Not for anything pink-pinged, anything having to do with toe curling. Is Billy upset? No, not really. Sleeping next to someone is nice, and he bets right now he’ll end up with an arm over Steve or vice versa. Is Billy frustrated that he has to keep his hands to himself? Yes, absolutely as he follows Steve’s pert ass to the bedroom. Must be from all that basketball. Or he’s just blessed. 

To start something with Steve tonight on the cusp of his panic at the drive-in wouldn’t be the best idea. As Billy searches the drawer of his clothes in Frankie’s dresser, he clearly imagines how the morning would go. Awkward. Tense. Steve maybe regretful of what they’d done. Billy huffs and shoves the drawer shut. He would rather have them falling into each other, can’t get enough, than pursue Steve and make him think this had all been rushed on purpose. Billy suspects that Steve’s affection for those he cares about runs deeper than anyone knows. And Billy wants that affection, doesn’t want Steve to turn away from him. 

Sweatpants in hand, Billy tosses them across the bed where Steve stands near the windows. A soft, blue glow paints that window in strange hues. Billy whips his white t-shirt off while watching Steve and knows it’s just the pool out back. Steve isn’t facing Billy when he sucks down a careful breath. Like he needs it to center himself or he’ll freak out again. Billy thumbs the button of his jeans in a thoughtful way and wishes Steve would turn around and watch him undress. Give Steve a taste of what he could have. 

“You remember when I was telling you about the people the mons-animal killed? When I said a girl from my school was killed?”

Billy pauses with one leg out of his jeans, stooped over to cover up the fact he’s not wearing underwear. 

“… Yea?”

Steve exhales and shakes his hands at his sides. 

“Well, she wasn’t just some girl. She was Nancy’s best friend, Barb. The last place anyone saw Barb alive was… the pool. At my house. She just…” Steve hunches on himself a little. “Disappeared. And I think it still bothers Nancy. A lot.”

“Nancy your girlfriend.”

He tries not to sound so bitter. He’s sure this Nancy girl is great or whatever. Steve doesn’t talk about her too much, but he’s never said anything crass or bad. That speaks more than Steve not mentioning her, in Billy’s opinion. He still watches the tense planes of Steve’s back under his blue shirt. 

“Yea,” Steve says in a sigh, almost dreamy. “I wish we could talk about it, but we can’t, you know? We can’t, so I wish we could just… move on and live our lives. I hate being stuck in the past like that, always thinking about what I could have done differently or how I wish things wouldn’t change.” Steve spins around and flashes a brief, sad smile. “Sorry. Don’t know why I’m telling you all this.”

‘Because you saw the pool and remembered the events all over again,’ Billy thinks to himself with only a little bit of attitude. Steve doesn’t seem to realize all these things tonight have made him remember and maybe relive the trauma he’d suffered. Billy bets Steve wouldn’t even admit it is trauma. He’d brush it off as not being a big deal. Sounds like Nancy isn’t the only one who has coping problems. Of course, Billy would know all about bad coping mechanisms. He’s the one shacked up with an adult man, has been seeing said man since Billy was fourteen. So yea, he knows all about bullshit coping. He’s a master at it by now. 

Billy nods his head to the extra pair of sweats he’d pulled from the dresser. Billy’s half nudity doesn’t bother Steve, and Billy is thankful for that. Prudes are cute to tease, annoying to get them to relax enough for anything good. If Steve appraises him, he doesn’t make it obvious to Billy. Too many years in a locker room, showering amongst other boys maybe. At least Steve looks at him at all. 

“Sleep in those…” And then Billy can’t ignore the ringing of Nancy’s name between his ears like a warning klaxon. Steve shuffles to get undressed, no shyness, and Billy grunts, “So this girlfriend of yours…”

Steve doesn’t even pause as he shucks his jeans—damn, he’s got little boxer briefs on—and says, “Yea Nancy. We started dating in secret like a week before all that crazy shit happened. It’s still wild to think she teamed up with Jonathan to go after the, uh, the animal all on their own. They were tired of the adults in town just spewing bullshit, you know?”

“Yea.” Billy doesn’t know if he actually understands that. He’s too busy standing at the side of the bed and watching Steve. This conversation is… unpleasant, but necessary. Billy doesn’t want to cause trouble with Steve and his girl. But if Steve doesn’t care… “So do you like her a lot or is she just a fun time?”

Steve frowns at him across the bed. 

“Yea, I like her a lot. I had a crush on her for a long time.” Steve shuffles like he’s nervous, swallows hard. “I… I actually called her after I said all that stuff about Frankie. She’s really smart, so I wanted her to explain everything to me.”

Steve hesitates with his hands hovering above the duvet. His fists tighten as he fights with himself, Billy holding his breath as he watches. He continues to stand idly by the bed as Steve peels the covers back and sits in the bare spot. Legs curled up next to him like on the couch, Steve doesn’t slip to his side or immediately lie down. He considers something with his bottom lip in his teeth and his hands flinching up to his hair a few times. But he leaves his bangs alone through sheer will, sighs, and then looks up at Billy. They only have the glow from the pool below to light the way. 

“We talked a lot. I told her about you, how we met and how we were hanging out until I messed up. And that I hoped you would forgive me.”

Some of Billy’s tension slips out of him. He holds himself by the hips and says softly, “I already told you it’s not a big deal. I forgive you, Steve. We’re cool.”

Equally soft and with a bashful smile, Steve says, “Okay.”

It’s enough to draw Billy down to the blanket. He nudges his side of the cover down from the pillows. The bed doesn’t really smell like Frankie anymore. Just clean laundry, the sort of musty smell that accompanies antiques. Frankie’s room displays some of the more… risqué pieces of his collection. Billy can’t believe Steve hasn’t blushed and sputtered over all the sex toys, naked figurines, art. Billy had stood in awe and wonder the first time he saw everything. Maybe it’s just too dark for Steve to see it all. Billy sighs with his arms pillowed behind his head, flat on his back. 

“Hey, Billy…”

“Hey, Steve…” Billy murmurs without turning to look at Steve. 

“Can I ask you something? When Nancy was talking to me about… AIDS and stuff, she said something that freaked me out. And I just wanna know.”

Billy turns his head and watches him. Steve lies on his side, facing Billy with an arm curled under his head, arm he’s not lying on resting bent between them. 

“What is it?”

Steve sucks down a calming breath. Whatever it is, he must be worried about saying it. Billy withholds a smirk and snort to let Steve have his moment. He’s cute when he’s trying to be considerate. 

Carefully, so carefully like he thinks Billy will blow up at him, Steve asks, “Do you? Have it?” He glances away from Billy, down to his hand, and then back up. “And like, I don’t mean anything bad by that. Nancy just pointed it out to me, and then I thought about you getting sick like Frankie and ending up in a hospital and well… I don’t want that to happen to you. I don’t want to think about you… dying.”

He says “dying” so quietly. Like even mentioning it in passing will seal Billy’s fate. The longer Billy lies there watching him, the more nervous Steve grows. Billy is always quiet right before his easy grins and playfulness shut down, turn biting and sharp. Steve chews the inside of his cheek to not start rambling or making excuses, call himself stupid which will just annoy Billy more. So Steve holds his breath as Billy sighs and rolls to face him, expression carefully blank. 

“As far as I’m aware, I don’t have it. Frankie warned me when I was sleeping around to not let people fuck me without condoms. To try and ask people if they were clean before doing anything. And Frankie was always careful.” Billy shrugs on his side. His right hand isn’t too far from Steve’s on the bed. “Can I say with 100% certainty I’m not infected? No. And nobody will know until a doctor makes some sort of test or whatever. I haven’t gotten sick yet, so.”

Steve wishes Billy were more sure. That Billy could tell him without a shred of doubt that he’s okay, that he won’t waste away in a hospital bed and just add to the statistics. They’re on the other side of the country from Hawkins where everything is messed up, and yet Steve finds himself conflicted like he hadn’t left. Heart sinking lower than when he slandered Nancy, Steve reaches out to cover Billy’s hand. He doesn’t think about why he reaches out to touch Billy. He just wants to. 

Under Steve’s careful touch, Billy doesn’t move at first. Should he say something? Play it off and tease Steve until he backpedals? Steve admitting shyly that he doesn’t want Billy to get sick like that… Has anyone since mom cared about him in such an unashamed way? There’s always some shame between him and Frankie. They both know what they’re doing is a little sick and wrong. Billy was only 14 the first time, still won’t be 18 until late October. With Steve, there’s none of that. Just the simmering affection between them. Billy wants more. 

The mattress groans under them as Billy hops and wiggles closer. Like this, their arms don’t have to strain so they can do… whatever this is with their hands. They don’t hold hands. They just feel each other, drawing fingertips against fingertips, Steve’s softer over his. Billy is the one to turn their hands over to discover the lines in Steve’s palm. Billy wants to know if any of Steve’s fingers are crooked from childhood injuries, wants to know just how rougher his palm is than Steve’s. 

“Billy,” Steve says barely above a whisper in the dark. His fingers thread through Billy’s to hold him. “I meant what I said. I don’t want you to die.”

“I won’t,” Billy murmurs right back, voice low to not disturb the easy silence. “Don’t worry your pretty head about it, baby. I won’t die.”

Nothing after that. Just dwindling energy until Billy is awake at one moment and then asleep. He’s not sure what time it is when he blinks awake with the night still thick outside. He knows what wakes him up. Under the blanket, their legs have tangled. Steve is solid and sleeps warm against Billy’s back. When had Billy turned around in the night to face away from Steve and ended up under his heavy arm? Not that he complains when he blinks lazily in the dark, barely awake in the first place. Billy just shifts his arm to blanket Steve’s and falls back asleep. Distantly, he knows he misses this so much. 

Steve drifts awake too about the time Billy sighs and relaxes back into the bed. He’s just as unsure about how they’ve ended up this way as Billy is. He just doesn’t want Billy to shove his arm away, doesn’t want Billy to leave just because they woke up cuddling. Steve barely remembers to breathe as Billy sinks back to sleep against him, holding Steve’s arm with their fingers almost laced again.

While Billy drifts back to sleep almost immediately, Steve remains awake in wonder, marveling at Billy so close. Unguarded and comfortable. Billy is such a different shape and weight in Steve’s arms than Nancy. Different from every girl, truthfully. Billy’s side is firm like a punching bag. Muscles underneath where Steve is used to the splash of a rib cage and smooth skin. Billy is honey warm in his sleep just like Steve, alive where his hand grazes the flat plane of Billy’s stomach. 

And what a novelty that is. Billy has hair climbing up from the waistband of his sweats. Hair Steve doesn’t have yet, but then again Billy already has a 5 o’clock shadow for a teenager. Steve’s next breath stutters across the nape of Billy’s neck. All his hair spills to the pillow under him to reveal the slumbering strength there. Steve holds his breath to curl closer to Billy. The last wisps of air press out between them all so that Steve can press his lips to Billy’s hair. It’s a reflex when Steve inhales deep and then brushes his lips over Billy’s nape. 

It just… feels right. Feels natural like if Nancy were here instead. Steve’s arm tightens around Billy as the kiss lingers. They fit together so well, like a side of a puzzle piece Steve didn’t know existed. Another side of the puzzle piece of himself. Steve ends the kiss with a slow exhale. He doesn’t see the way the peach fuzz on Billy stands on end. Steve feels it on the second kiss, lower on Billy’s neck. 

Billy shifts under Steve’s arm.

Steve can’t break this greedy second kiss fast enough. What is he doing? Kissing Billy in the middle of the night, Billy asleep, like they’re boyfriends or something. Steve’s stomach flips at even thinking about the word “boyfriend” in this context, but he can’t dwell on it. Billy sighs in his sleep, or maybe near wakefulness, and Steve silently panics. He should play it off. Haha, what a silly accident. Would Billy buy that?

“Steve?”

Steve’s every movement and every breath freezes. He thinks even his heart stops. 

“Y-Yea?”

His voice is rough with sleep, but he’s sure Billy hears him. How could he not with them pressed together from head to toe like this? With Billy awake now, Steve feels feverish all along where their bare skin grazes together. It’s only on Steve’s arm past where his shirt sleeve ends. Only now is he both kicking and thanking himself for sleeping in his blue v-neck from yesterday. Kicking himself because he has denied himself the chance to touch Billy more. Thanking himself because at least only a small part of him starts to sweat on Billy. It’s not even overly hot in here. He’s just on the tipping point of panicking. 

Billy sniffs, and then his arm shifts on top of Steve’s. He takes their hands, wrapping his around Steve’s fingers, and guides them back up his body. The higher they go, the tighter Steve’s arm draws around Billy. His chest is a barrel under Steve’s arm when Billy flattens Steve’s hand. They’re so snug together like this, Steve tight to Billy’s back and curling with him. Billy sighs again, still not turning over or teasing Steve for this. Steve is still at the tipping point when Billy covers his arm again. Their hands are familiar friends by this point, and Steve doesn’t hesitate to accept the fingers threaded through his. 

“You okay? Can’t sleep?”

Billy sounds like he could drift right back off. Steve lets himself breathe for the first time since Billy had stirred awake. 

“No, I’m… I’m okay, Billy,” he sighs in Billy’s hair, wild with bravery in the dark and unafraid to nuzzle Billy in earnest. Billy would elbow him right in the gut if he wanted Steve to stop. “Sorry for waking you.”

Billy squeezes his hand and slurs, “Go back to sleep, baby. I won’t let anything hurt you.”

Believing Billy is like breathing. Effortless. Mindless. And maybe he will sleep the rest of the night undisturbed. He won’t know until he tries. Face hot all over, Steve mouths another kiss as thanks to Billy’s neck. They sigh together, and Steve doesn’t remember closing his eyes and falling asleep to Billy’s breaths and sunny warmth. He just sleeps and dreams of nothing. Blissful. 


	11. Barbie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Billy play dress-up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is officially the last short chapter! Finally! Things pick up =3c very quickly soon. Uhg this fucking fic. I forgot how long it is. How it drags on... Anyway, enjoy!

Waking up overheated and thirsty is the worst, Steve decides while groaning awake. Billy is gone. He knows that immediately upon waking but pats around the bed for Billy anyway. It’s a sour note so early in the morning. Waking up alone sucks. Steve stares with lonely eyes like a lost dog at the pillow Billy had used last night. He’s somewhere, smells and sounds drifting through the bedroom door that’s cracked open. He’s not alone. Billy just isn’t in bed anymore. It’s how Steve rationalizes his sadness away while snatching Billy’s pillow and smothering himself with it. 

Steve rolls onto his back and wraps his arms around the lumpy thing. The pillowcase smells like Billy’s hair, whatever product he uses. It’s nice to know another boy who is a little vain like him. Takes pride in his looks and his hair above all. Steve inhales deep his feelings and shakes his head free to sigh through his exhale. He lies there a while longer, worry slowly building up like a dam under pressure. Does Billy remember the stolen kisses last night? Steve certainly remembers. Maybe now he’ll pay the price for stealing them. Maybe Billy will tell him that hadn’t been cool, to not do it again…

He won’t know unless he gets up. And he should get up, now. Billy might come looking for him anyway if he lies here much longer. It’s already near noon when Steve rolls to squint at an alarm clock. Already on his side to read the clock, Steve smacks his head into Billy’s pillow to give a final groan. He’s already wasted this Saturday morning. Best not waste the rest. Plus Billy probably wants to get rid of him at some point. Steve doesn’t want that, though, and so procrastinates by making the bed. It’s a practiced motion by now. It doesn’t take as long as he wishes. 

Billy’s broad back is to Steve when he peeks into the kitchen. It’s warm from the stove, and Billy’s skin glows with sweat. A radio is turned low, some rock station with riffs coming through tinny on the cheap speaker. Billy sort of bobs along to the song, blows smoke from a cigarette away from the food. With no ashtray in reach, Billy perches the cigarette over the edge of the sink. The ashes fall into the sink that way, and if it burns down to the filter, there’s no harm. Just like on the couch last night, Billy looks natural here. Like he belongs. Steve wonders if there’s any space for him in this picture. 

“You gonna stand there staring at my ass or come sit down and eat?”

Billy doesn’t catch Steve’s little startled jump when he speaks. But he looks away from the last pancake to grin at Steve over his bare shoulder. Of course Steve couldn’t know his reflection appears in the microwave above the stove. Billy has known he was there the entire time—just let the moment drag on as Steve watched him silently. He does want Steve to eat before all this shit gets cold, though. Eggs are last, cool and get gross the fastest. Steve better be hungry. 

Jerking his shoulder to the cabinets, Billy says, “Plates are up there. There’s milk and juice in the fridge.”

Steve’s reflection takes a cautious step forward. 

“Did you… make us breakfast?”

Billy scoffs, “No, I made all this for me, you can’t have any. I’m just gonna eat in front of you like a jackass.”

But Steve smiles in the reflection and murmurs, “Jerk,” just loud enough for Billy to hear. When he finally enters the kitchen proper to make a plate, Billy peels his eyes away. He can’t get enough of Steve’s messy bed head, how his shirt is still sleep ruffled. Billy has been awake long enough to shower and cook all this shit. It’s about time the smells got to Steve. 

Steve slides up next to Billy at the stove. All the food is here on the counter, waiting in the sun streaming through the window. They brush against each other a few times as Steve stabs at pancakes and plucks bacon by the fatty ends for his plate. There’s a split moment, a few seconds of tension when their upper arms connect and stay that way. Billy’s left hand is busy reaching for his cigarette while the right takes over nudging the liquid edges of sunny-side-up eggs. It’s the sort of tension that has purpose. Like Steve will say or do something. When Billy turns his head to watch Steve, cigarette hanging off Billy’s lip, Steve just flushes and skitters to the table. The moment breaks and passes. It leaves Billy a little lighter on his feet. 

“Sleep well?”

Behind him, silverware clatters when Steve drops them. Billy’s teasing grin is just for himself. He recalls every detail, every moment of waking in Steve’s arms and the light kisses after. Steve squirming about it is too delicious a treat to pass up. Steve had once called him an ass after all. 

“Uh, y-yea, I slept… great.”

Billy hums behind his cigarette. The eggs need salt and pepper, and he speaks over the twinkling noise of the shakers, “Good, good. Glad to hear. Didn’t take you for a cuddler, but…”

Steve sputters behind him and wheezes, “Shit…”

Billy can’t keep it up, though. He barks a laugh, almost losing his cigarette. He tosses it in the sink just to hear the hiss of the cherry hitting water. Frying pan in hand, Billy chuckles all through walking the sizzling eggs to the table. He nudges and flicks one onto Steve’s plate and keeps the other two for himself. If Steve wants more eggs, he can make them. He sits there all cute, red to his hair and avoiding Billy’s laughing eyes. Frying pan returned to the stove to cool and clean later, Billy falls heavy into the kitchen chair right next to Steve. Why play coy at this point?

“I’m just fucking with you, baby, don’t freak out on me.” Billy grins over his hot food as Steve tries to eat nonchalant like. “I’ll admit it was a surprise to wake up that way, but I’m not complaining. You make a decent big spoon.”

Steve tries to play it cool and not spit out pancakes. Again. Trust Billy to just talk about last night so freely. He’s loving this, and Steve makes a bratty face at him, mocking him with little noises. 

“Yea yea, whatever. If you hate it that much, I’ll be sure to never do it again, jerk.”

Billy aims a mocking pout his way. 

“Don’t be like that, pretty boy, I was only kidding, I promise. I would have stayed in bed with you longer, but somebody had to make breakfast. Plus who knows”—Billy’s grin is all teeth and intense eyes, voice bottoming out—“if I stayed any longer, things might have gotten… interesting. If you woke up like I did.”

The table blocks their lower halves, but Steve’s shy eyes dart down from Billy’s face anyway. He’d woken up a little hard, yea, but that’s been a daily thing since his dick turned on when he was 12 or whatever. But then his brain runs away with the image of waking up hard, pressed all along Billy’s ass. And then Billy waking up and teasing him about it, rubbing on him on purpose to get a rise out of him. Or even worse rubbing on him to get him hot and bothered and then just leaving Steve like that. Probably cackling as he wanders out of the bedroom, Steve unsatisfied. 

“You’re all talk,” Steve says with his mouth full, face hot around his eyes. “Thanks for breakfast, though, it’s a good consolation prize.”

And Billy just wants to escalate. Oh, how he wants to prove Steve’s smugness wrong. He could have Steve flailing and sprawled on this kitchen table in a second. He stares hard into Steve’s eyes like he can send that image through the air. Or make Steve read the atmosphere. Steve is good about picking up vibes, and he ducks his head with a fresh blush just as planned.

Billy hums, boastful and triumphant, but lets it go. They’re still tiptoeing around each other. Still testing the waters. Billy wants them to be at full throttle, red-lining the engine of this thing between him. A sobering thought is that Steve has less and less time as the days march on. He’ll go back to Indiana soon. And the distance will eat at Billy. He knows it. 

He has a plan, though. 

The kitchen is comfortable once again when Billy sits back in his chair and asks casually, “Any plans tonight?”

Steve holds up a finger as he chews. Like he hadn’t spoken with his mouthful a second ago. How cute. 

“Not that I know of, but I get the feeling you have something in mind.”

“As a matter of fact, the week before you landed, a friend of Frankie’s invited me to a house party tonight.” Billy shrugs. “I wasn’t gonna go originally, not really my scene, but… Do you wanna?”

Steve makes a skeptical face. 

“Only kind of ‘house parties’ I’ve been to are ones thrown by kids from school when their parents are away. And I can’t imagine it’ll be like that.”

“Nah, this is a bunch of adults getting together. Not that juvenile shit you’re used to. I know the guy hosting the party, he’s got this huge house up in the hills. It’s gonna be mostly people drinking, dancing, getting high, whatever.”

Steve stops eating to sit up straight and regard Billy more seriously. 

“You wanna go to something like that?”

And Billy holds their stare when he admits, “Only if you tag along.”

It’s not his scene, usually. Of course he’s been on Frankie’s arm to these things, Frankie’s darling Billy. And all of Frankie’s friends cooed at him and appraised him like they were welcoming a new member to the flock. Steve doesn’t need to know it’s mostly a party for gay men. Some others cruise around, but it’s a sausage party. Cops here still raid clubs every so often if word gets out there’s a happenin’ party going on. And gay men to arrest for just existing. Billy suspects that if he brings Steve there, gets him to relax and get over his crisis of sexuality, cheating on his girlfriend or whatever, that Steve might… notice him. The way Billy wants him to. 

“Do I need to dress fancy or anything? Hate to break it to you, but it’s just polos and shorts back at the hotel.”

Oh, a treat to dress Steve himself. Billy grins before gesturing with his fork to Steve’s remaining food. 

“Finish up and we’ll fix that. Never played with dolls, but you’ll make a great Barbie.”

Steve snorts and does as he’s told. Billy doesn’t have the stomach for food anymore. He just wants to sit here all relaxed and casual and just watch Steve. Like they do this all the time. The apartment actually feels alive and welcoming with someone else here. Don’t get him wrong, Billy needs the safety and solitude away from dad and all the shit at home. He’s just lucky Max’s school, the skate park, and arcade she likes are all close enough to the house. Dad doesn’t make him chauffeur her around the place like he’s a damn taxi. Small miracles. He won’t be available for babysitting duty tonight. 

They leave the dishes for cleaning later as Billy leads Steve back to the bedroom. Steve would probably fit Frankie’s clothes better. And it’s not like Frankie is using them. Steve loiters with his hip cocked, arms crossed over his chest. Like he doesn’t actually want to do this, just indulges Billy. He snorts and makes faces about pieces of outfits Billy throws on the bed. He wants Steve in something subtle, wants Steve to wear something that makes the clothes look better. Not the other way around. 

The black jeans Billy tosses at Steve are a little shiny. They’re inky dark but catch the light pouring in from outside and give the threads a sheen. It would certainly attract the eye in low light. Steve shrugs with his eyebrows popping up and goes to set them aside. Billy stopping his search makes Steve look up. 

“Well? Try them on, make sure they fit.”

“What, right now?”

“No, when we get to the party so you look like a slob when they fit like shit,” Billy drawls, already turning back to the closet. “Yes, now.”

Steve grumbles something that sounds like, “Pushy asshole,” but Billy lets it go. He knows there’s the perfect shirt in here for Steve. It’s tempting to dress him all in black, sleek and alluring. But it would need something else. A jacket or vest or something. Steve shuffles and hops behind Billy, making enough noise to attract his eye. When Billy looks at him, he decides what colors to avoid and what colors to maybe try. Steve’s shoulders and chest would look great in a vest…

“They’re, uh, really tight,” Steve says with an embarrassed grin. “I think if I move the wrong way you can see my balls. This looks stupid.”

They’re not tight at his waist, thankfully, just everywhere else. And it’s the furthest thing from stupid, even though the sight makes Billy a little stupid. He’s the master of pulling off tight jeans. These on Steve, though? They leave little to the imagination. Underwear lines take away from the whole appeal of the material hugging around Steve’s dick and thighs. The black makes them modest enough to get away with it, softening the… outlines. Billy taps thoughtful fingers on his lips as he continues to stare heavily between Steve’s legs. 

“Give us a spin,” Billy demands with a twirl of his finger. “Let’s see how badly they show off you’re wearing underwear.”

“What?”

“Turn,” Billy says again. It’s not a request. 

Billy sucks his teeth once Steve finally does shuffle around. He’s so exaggerated, hobbling around like he’s miserable. It’s adorable, but Billy is right, the underwear has to go. 

“They look great on you, pretty boy. Lose the underwear tonight, though.”

“What?” Steve squeaks. “I’m not not wearing underwear, Billy.”

“Why not? I wasn’t wearing any last night, and I fucking killed it. Live a little.”

Billy keeps his smirk when the admission draws Steve’s eyes down below Billy’s waist. Steve is so easy to goad, so easy to fluster. But isn’t afraid to goad back. He’s not prudish, just… adorable. Billy doesn’t have words for this ridiculous boy, but maybe he doesn’t need them. He’s always been better at speaking with his body anyway. 

Steve’s shirt comes off next, the same v-neck one from last night. It had been a smart choice, and Billy is glad Steve brought that one with him. Anything but a fucking polo like he’s somebody’s caddie on a golf course. Billy tosses a black button up at Steve, steps up himself to undo some of the work Steve makes with the buttons. Billy leaves the top three undone to show off some skin. Not too much. He wants that for himself. No, everyone else at the party only gets to look. Billy wants to taste. 

His mouth is a little dry when he gets out, “Keep at least those three undone. And tuck the tails in your pants. I’ll give you a belt, too.”

“Don’t need help keeping the pants up, dude, I’m gonna have to peel them off to get out of them.”

“It’s part of the look, baby. I don’t hear any objections to me dressing you up.”

“Feel like a doll,” Steve grumbles as he accepts a belt from Billy. 

“Watch it or I’ll dress you like Barbie instead of Ken.”

He winks at Steve’s thin look. When they’d first met, Steve probably would have said something offensive. Something homophobic and just dumb. Billy even feels the hot edge of Steve’s knee-jerk reaction to fire back at him. So Billy doesn’t return to digging in the closet right away as he watches Steve battle with himself. Hopefully that girlfriend of his put some sense into him. Billy doesn’t want this moment, like every moment between them, to sour because of misunderstanding. 

Steve eventually rolls his eyes and mutters, “I bet I could pull it off.”

He keeps guiding the tongue of the belt through loops after that. Freed from another conflict with Steve, Billy exhales slowly and turns to the closet. He doesn’t need the thought of Steve in something Barbie might wear. Really doesn’t need that thought with his sweatpants loose and terrible at hiding anything. 

Steve plays with the buttons on his cuffs in silence as he waits for more clothes. Surely Billy isn’t done with him. He looks like a waiter. Or a bus boy. There has to be something more. So Steve toys with the idea of undoing the cuffs and rolling them up his forearms. He knows what he looks like, knows what features to accentuate. And so long as Steve doesn’t shove the sleeves up like a kid in a jacket, it’ll actually look nice.

One arm done, Steve glances up in time to catch Billy watching him. Billy is never ashamed to look at him. Steve wishes he could be so bold. Sure he looks at Billy. Sometimes can’t help it. But once he’s caught red handed, the nervous thing that lives inside him demands he goof off and pretend like he hadn’t been doing that. Not Billy. Billy ogles him from the closet, makes eye contact to let Steve know he knows, and then finally tugs something out of the closet again. Billy pauses long enough to let Steve finish rolling up the other arm. 

“Nice touch,” Billy says with a long look up and down, like he hadn’t just done that a second ago. “All that basketball pays off, huh?”

“That and swinging a baseball bat like a crazy person, yea.”

It’s maybe the first time he’s joked about the monster. Mentioned the trauma in passing. Billy catches the reference and softens the smirk on his face. Instead of throwing the vest in his hands at Steve, Billy walks it to him.

It’s deep, dark blue. Not velvet, thank Christ. Careful, silver embroidery of rose vines with thorns snakes along the front of the vest. A single rose shines from the breast pocket as the vines loop around the edges, up to the collar. It’s not too much, colors working together and complimenting Steve’s complexion. 

Steve takes the vest carefully from Billy and says, “Wow.”

“Should have trusted me, baby,” Billy laments with a shrug. “Told you I’d dress you up so fine.”

“I trust you,” Steve fires back with a pout. 

Steve doesn’t hear himself in the heat of that moment. It’s just a fact that pops out of his mouth like his name or his birthdate. He only sees Billy’s expression split open honest and vulnerable, like no one has ever said that to him before. 

Rather than back down or let Billy laugh it off, Steve says it again without the pout. 

“I trust you, Billy. I mean it.”

They need to quit having intimate brushes like this or Billy is liable to let his lover nature show. Weeping at will, confessions, sweet nothings. No one has ever made Billy want to cry, punch, and kiss them all at the same time. Steve leaves Billy witless and breathless. He can only clear his throat and nod to the vest, hope his voice doesn’t break. 

“Put it on.”

Steve holds Billy’s heavy stare with a small smile starting to tug on his lips. It tugs harder when Billy mirrors him. 

“As you wish.”

Steve’s arms swoop behind him as he snaps the vest onto his body. He gives a little hop for good measure and then smooths his hands down the front of it. Sleek, matte buttons hide in the inky blue, but Billy reaches for them before Steve has a chance. They’re in each other’s personal space again. Steve doesn’t even flinch this time. Billy does up his three buttons and then gives the bottom of the vest a tug. That straightens all the lines and helps the embroidery pop. 

Billy steps back to look at him up and down for what must be the hundredth time. Steve snorts and shuffles around without Billy saying a word. He even pauses like this to let Billy have his fill. But a careful pressure, the gentlest touch to Steve’s shoulder coaxes him back around. Steve blinks confused, big eyes at Billy. What, isn’t he having fun? Steve had thought Billy would like him playing along.

“Looks great,” Billy says. “Maybe a little tight if you lift your arms too high, but otherwise it looks great.” A pause and then Billy says almost sourly, “Please tell me you have shoes other than those sandals.”

Steve has the decency to look bashful when he grins and says, “Nope. I’m on vacation! I didn’t bring like a whole wardrobe with me.”

“Hopefully you fit Frankie’s shoes, I guess.”

The loafers Billy digs out for him are buttery and probably dangerously expensive. They’re only a tiny bit snug around Steve’s toes. He doesn’t tell Billy that, just knows he’ll need to try and cut his toenails after his shower later. That might help the pinching. That done and Steve appraised to be party-worthy, it’s Steve’s turns to eye Billy up and down. Not that either boy minds. 

“So?” Steve breathes. “What are you gonna wear?”

“Uh, whatever I usually wear, because Frankie’s friends know what I’m about.”

Steve squints over his dropped jaw as Billy winks and goes about putting clothes back in the closet. 

“You dress like a wannabe cowboy biker. Why was I the one who had to get dressed up?”

Billy pauses his cleaning effort long enough to lean over and clap Steve’s cheek a few times. 

“Poor baby,” he teases. “Cuz this is a nice house party, not a high school fever dream of a good time. Besides, don't pretend like you didn’t enjoy yourself. Playing dress up isn’t just for girls.”

As Billy winks at him and returns to cleaning up, Steve considers that notion seriously. He’s always just worn the things his parents bought. Because they should know how to dress him, right? But as Steve wanders out of the bedroom and into the bathroom to look at himself, he finds that yea, Billy did a great job on him. Steve stoops down to get his hair in focus and starts flicking it this way and that to get the right look. Without his hair products, though, it’s just a temporary thing. A twitch sends his hair all soft around his forehead and eyes. Billy appears at the doorway, arms looped above his head as he leans on them, just as Steve gives up with a huff. 

“It’ll look better after a shower and styled,” Steve excuses. “This is a work in progress.”

Billy nods. 

“I’m sure… Anyway, you wanna get to that shower now or later?”

Steve does feel gross and oily from last night. From sleeping in a strange place. Then again, he doesn’t exactly want to leave. Not if Billy is going to be here. 

Steve rubs the back of his neck and says, “I feel gross, but it’s not bad. Not like if I slept in my clothes.”

“I’ll take you back to the hotel. That’ll give me time to do what I gotta get done.”

Something Steve isn’t invited to accompany him. Which yea, it stings a little. They’re not joined at the hip or anything. And Billy doesn’t strike Steve as the clingy type. Steve knows clingy. Wears it like a second skin, irony aside. Nancy always gets on him about taking too much of her time, of not knowing when enough is enough. So what, he likes Billy and has to have all his time now? Steve’s frown is for himself, and he aims it away from Billy’s face. 

“Okay… Should I bring the clothes with me? I guess you’ll pick me up for the party later?”

Another nod. 

“Yea, it’s gonna be another late night. There’ll be food and drinks, all that shit, so don’t worry about getting hungry. And we can leave whenever you want, if you’re not feeling it.”

Steve wants to play with his hair when his next question bubbles up in his mouth. 

“When we leave, are we gonna? Come back here? Or are you taking me back to the hotel?”

“Wherever you want, baby. I wouldn’t mind a repeat of last night.”

Wouldn’t mind. Not don’t. Wouldn’t. That one word changes Billy’s whole tone. He wants Steve to come back and sleep here. He’s just short of an open invitation, but Steve sees it for what it is. Billy is just as unsure and nervous as him. He’s better at hiding it, or maybe Steve isn’t great at reading it. All at once Steve is thankful and enraged by the fact he’s about to go hours without seeing Billy. Thankful because he feels like Billy has carved him open and left the wound raw. Enraged because he’ll be thinking about Billy and this mature party so much he’ll drive himself crazy.

Then again he’s pissed off, because there’s no reason they have to be apart. It’s a needy thought, and he knows Billy might have actual things to take care of. Maybe he has to do something with his sister. It’s only a few hours. Who cares. They’ll be apart and then show up to the party. And then come back here. They’ll have a good time no matter what. 

The next few hours waiting for Billy will be some of the longest in Steve’s life. 


	12. Gorgeous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Billy go to a party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go aaaaaa it's kicking off! This chapter and the next are some of the original scenes I envisioned when this story was still in its primordial form. Like before I ever put fingers to keyboard, this party they're going to was a big reason I wrote the fic at all. So I hope everyone enjoys! 
> 
> Are you looking for a more light-hearted fic? Something ABO with power bottom Steve who knows exactly what he wants and how to get it? Do you like the idea of everybody fucking Steve? Boy, do I have [a fic for you](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23364805/chapters/55980520). "Please, Please, Please" updates on Saturdays, and the first chapter is Stonathan. Give it a lick, maybe you'll like it.

Steve hadn’t entirely understood what Billy meant by ‘in the hills’ while explaining where the party is. ‘In the hills’ apparently means a fucking hour-long drive east. Billy made a point to ask if Steve peed before he climbed into the Camaro.

“I’m not stopping if nature calls,” Billy warns, coming to a growling stop at a light. The night stretches dark and terrible before them as they face the distant mountains, the sea at their backs. “It’s already 9, we won’t get there until closer to 10. So if you have to piss, hold it.”

“Why are we showing up so late?”

“A party with these people that started at 9 is actually normal. Again,” Billy says carefully, “this is not some teenager’s house party.”

To Billy’s credit, he’s not dressed like they’re going to some teenager’s house party. His jeans aren’t the ripped, faded ones Steve has seen a few times, now. They’re in better shape, the knees and crotch don’t have those fade lines yet from the indigo washing out. They’re almost more modest than Billy’s usual pair, but Steve knows he’s not wearing anything under them. Steve had debated and argued with himself for twenty minutes over whether or not to keep his underwear on. It brings a flush to his face to know Billy will figure it out the moment they get out of the car. 

As far as a shirt goes, it almost looks like a repeat outfit. Almost. The first night Billy had found him running around, Billy was wearing something similar. That deep red button-up tucked into his pants with the top three buttons undone, showing off his chest. It’s another red button-up, but this one is sheer. Billy doesn’t wear anything under it, just every inch of his beautiful skin on coy, rouge display. Steve wonders if it’s itchy. Steve isn’t the best judge of clothes just by looking at them. No, he would have to reach out with long fingers and rub the material. Billy would probably even let him. Regardless, the sheer top certainly paints a pleasant picture to his eyes.

It’s a long drive, though, and Steve gets bored ogling Billy after a few minutes. He wants to make moronic small talk or ask about the rest of Billy’s day. Like he’s Billy’s girlfriend or some shit. Steve shakes himself into bitter silence. He wants too much of Billy. He instantly wants to know everything about the other boy. His past, his favorite things, his opinion on thick or thin crust pizza, the Virgin Mary pendant always dangling between his pecs… Any piece of himself Billy is willing to give, Steve wants it. The radio isn’t as loud as it could be… maybe Billy would trade small talk with him?

“Hey, Billy?”

“Hey, Steve?”

They share a grin, and then Steve asks, “Have you, um, lived here all your life?”

Billy blinks straight ahead and allows his grin to slowly deflate. 

“Uh. Yea. Like not in the same house but in the same city, yea.”

Steve nods. 

“Cool, cool. Do you play a sport, too?”

Billy’s eyebrows wrinkle just a little in the center. 

“Football is what I wanted, but I got kicked off junior varsity for too many penalties. You’re pretty much branded as an undesirable if you get kicked out of the biggest team sport on campus, so…”

“That blows,” Steve says, actually sad for Billy. If he didn’t have basketball, he’d probably go a little crazy. “So what, no track and field? No swimming?”

“Nah, pretty much banned from all that shit… Why?”

“Huh?”

Billy’s mouth twists into something a little sour, and he finds the reflection of Steve’s eyes in the windshield. 

“Why do you ask? You curious all of a sudden?”

“N-no, well I mean yea but like…” Steve sighs and drags a hand through his hair even though it’s styled and he shouldn’t. Steve shrugs and stares out the window instead of meeting Billy’s reflection. “Just making conversation. Trying to get to know you better.” He shrugs again, resigned to silence at this point. “I talk about myself a lot, so I wanted to know more about you. Sorry.”

Billy wishes he weren’t driving right now. He would pull over squeezed up real close to the guard rail, reach over, and kiss Steve until he’s dizzy. And then some more. Maybe climb out to drag Steve into the backseats and just… hold him. Touch him. Whatever. Billy squeezes the steering wheel instead and gnashes his teeth. Tonight. Tonight he’ll work on all this want, all this heat under his skin. It’s all for Steve. He can’t give it to anyone else. 

“I… I grew up listening to my mom’s music. She liked all the shit from the 60s and 70s. Carpenters, Simon & Garfunkel. Hippie feel-good shit. We used to sing together, have like pretend concerts together. I didn’t start getting into trouble until… later.” Billy pinches his eyes shut despite the road and grunts, “I wasn’t always an asshole, Steve. I promise.”

Steve shifts next to him, leans back off the passenger door. 

“Why did you start getting in trouble?”

He’s never told anyone about her. Not even Frankie. After they’d met, Billy played off the mini fire on the beach as his dad being a drunk vet who couldn’t tell the difference between a flashback and his own son. He’s not too far off the mark, only flashbacks don’t mouth off just to get a reaction out of the old man. Susan might know what happened, but she would only know the lie dad told her. Max definitely doesn’t. Billy would certainly never tell the little brat this. 

Blowing out a calm breath, Billy flicks his head up to knock a curl out of his face. 

“She uh… she split the scene. Just took off one day. Never came back.”

Quiet. And then softly, like Steve can’t breathe, “Billy, that’s… that’s terrible.”

Billy shrugs instead of letting his face crumble like he wants to. He’s so tired of crying over her. So tired. 

“It’s whatever, you know. If she didn’t wanna be there, then that’s fine. Don’t need her.”

Steve doesn’t need to look at the delicate way Billy holds himself against the seat, knuckles white on the steering wheel, to know that’s bullshit. 

“Yea…” He says full of uncertainty rather than fight Billy on his bullshit. Now isn’t the time. “So um… Tell-tell me about your car, man. How does a teenager end up with a ride like this?”

Billy could just kiss Steve for dropping the subject. He relaxes with an exhale, wipes a hand on his jeans. He’s itching for a cigarette, doesn’t know where the fuck the pack fell. Steve shifts next to him, digging around. Billy spares a glance through the night to Steve’s pretty head ducked to search in the glove box, curl over the dark center console to search the crevices there. Steve eventually sits up with Billy’s Newports and lighter in hand. 

Billy’s right hand twitches on his thigh to lift up and take them from Steve. The cabin flickers with a spark, yellow and orange. Steve gets him started, takes a quick drag and then coughs the smoke out. He thrusts the filter towards Billy like he can’t get rid of it fast enough, paws at the window crank the moment his hands are free. Billy sits there with the cigarette burning between his fingers, just listening to Steve suck down sweet, cool air. Steve clears his throat around the time Billy’s trembling hand finally rests the filter on his lower lip. It’s damp from Steve’s lips. 

“Thanks,” he says carefully. “I owe you.”

What Billy could possibly owe him for lighting and passing a cigarette, Steve isn’t sure. He understands the need for a distraction like the best of them. And for Billy, if he can’t run his mouth or say mean shit, it’s smoking. He gets it. Steve knows his thing is rambling and talking to himself. He gets it. 

Billy angles his mouth to the window on the exhale and says, “So anyway, my old man bought the car. I think he bought it with the intention of doing that father-son shit where you fix up a beater? I just took it to Tyrone and Miguel. You should have seen this piece of shit at first, hah.”

“People do that?” Steve asks with a scoff. “I guess if you have parents that are around enough…”

“Yea, that’s an essential part of the equation, baby. They gotta be around.” Billy shrugs. “Sounds to me like the story behind your Bay-M-Vay is a little different from mine.”

Steve faces crinkles in confusion and he asks, “My what? What did you even just say?”

“BMW. It’s how you say it in German. They pronounce the letters instead of just saying them. Bay-M-Vay.”

Billy might be full of shit. Might just be making that up to pull a fast one on him. Steve just huffs out a laugh and shares a grin with Billy across the car. 

“I’m beginning to think you’re actually really smart. Who would just know that off the top of their head?”

Billy sits up straighter, chest puffing up without him knowing it. 

“I have approximate knowledge of many things, pretty boy. Jack of all trades, master of none.”

“Heh, that kinda sounds like me.” Steve stares into the racing edge of the headlights in front of them. Eating darkness for a split second. “I’m not really, like, **good** at anything, you know? And people have all these expectations about you…”

“Tell me about it,” Billy drawls. His cigarette is mostly forgotten in the fingers of his left hand, so he flicks the remainder out the window. “I think if I did something my old man was proud of, he’d immediately drop dead.”

Billy leaves out, ‘Not a bad deal.’ He wants to say it. But that’s a little too real. They’ve already dipped into the deep end of the pool. No more of that shit tonight. Billy doesn’t want to think about his mom and all that crap. Not ever really, but especially not tonight. 

In the ensuing silence, comfortable this time instead of tense, Steve lets a smile worm onto his face. The camaraderie between them is… so authentic. It’s not like when Tommy had basically been his stooge. Not like the kids at school who just imagine his wealth and his big, empty house. Billy doesn’t even see that stuff, just dives right into the meat of who he is and just… gets it. Steve relaxes in the passenger seat and wishes he could… hold Billy’s hand or something. Touch him. He finds he wants that more and more all the time. 

“I guess we’re just a couple of peas in a pod.”

Steve isn’t sure he means for Billy to hear that. Maybe he does. Billy is quiet next to him as they zip past signs, trees, darkness. Steve isn’t afraid to look out the window at the flashing shadows. There’s nothing out there. He’s safe. 

‘Nobody is here to hurt you. And if they were, I’d fucking kill them.’

Billy’s voice in his head sends Steve’s heart fluttering like a bird. Because he believes Billy. He believes Billy would jump right into the thick of a fight against anything and just punch until it’s over. What would Billy think about the monster? Steve hadn’t gone into detail about it on purpose. He doesn’t like to remember it’s moldy, wet smell. How when it would hiss or scream you could smell blood. Steve shivers and clasps his hands in his lap. It’s not here. It’s dead, can’t get him. And even if it were…

‘I’d fucking kill them.’

“Billy?”

Steve’s voice isn’t as strong or steady as he’d hoped. It doesn’t matter. He just needs to…

“Yea?”

“I um… I wish you’d been there. When the three of us were fighting that thing. Me, Nancy, and Jonathan. I don’t know if it woulda made a difference but… I don’t know.”

Before Steve can ramble his way into distraction, Billy says, “Maybe, maybe not. I woulda fucked that thing up, though. And you can bet on that.”

It’s a quiet, soft moment between them. Steve picks at his fingernails, had actually made sure to clean them in the shower earlier. Billy’s hands are rough from labor of some sort, but his fingernails are clean. It’s something Steve noticed, although he’s not sure when. He’s not done talking to Billy, though, and so combs his thoughts for more things they can talk about. More he can learn about Billy. 

Billy beats him to it. 

That hour-long drive isn’t long enough for all the things they bicker about, laugh about. Billy scoffs and makes fun of Steve’s music just as Steve teases Billy about how he drives like a maniac. They agree on plenty of things, too. They end up liking a lot of the same foods, leisure activities. Steve tells Billy the story behind his first time getting high at a party with Tommy. How it had sucked and made him a little sick. How he had to go outside and just lie down connected to the earth in a way he never was before. Billy promises anything he passes Steve at the party will be good shit. And that Steve doesn’t have to smoke or drink anything if he doesn’t want to. Billy implies he’ll see to that personally. 

They pull up a manicured, tidy driveway lined with trees when Billy warns him, “These friends of Frankie’s they can be… pushy. They see you here at the party and think you’re on the level, you know? They’re gonna assume you’re a party boy and you’re down for anything. They’ll assume you’re gay, too, so it’s best you establish boundaries real quick. I don’t feel like beating the shit out of people tonight.”

“My hero,” Steve laughs with a roll of his eyes. Then his brain repeats what Billy had just said, and he blurts, “Wait what? Why would they think I’m gay?”

Billy shoves the gear shift all the way up into park with a satisfying, plastic crunch. 

“Oh what, didn’t I tell you?” Billy smirks around his teeth, trying not to look too devilish. “It’s a gay house party. Wall-to-wall homosexuals. I thought you’d figure it out.”

He knows damn well Steve hadn’t thought anything beyond ‘Frankie’s friends.’ Didn’t think maybe Frankie would be friends with other gay men. 

“I-no, no I did not. I’m glad you decided to tell me right as we’re getting ready to go in. Thanks, Billy, you’re a real pal.”

He doesn’t mean it, voice glistening with sarcasm. But Billy means it with all his heart when he purrs back, “Anything for you, baby. Let’s go.”

Billy doesn’t have to knock to gain entry. The door opens like it welcomes them in. Voices ring out all through the huge foyer. Bigger than Steve’s house, but he doesn’t exactly feel small in the space. His parents are friends with people like this—with this wealth anyway—in Chicago, New York. He’s had to tag along a few times. He was dressed in fancier, uncomfortable clothes, but the ambiance is about the same. 

Until Billy leads them in the direction of music shaking the house. 

A room surely the size of Steve’s whole first floor of his house is _hopping_. Whoever is the host has gone all out. A lightshow like a multicolored disco ball paint the room in a moving kaleidoscope to the beat of the music. Bodies crowd every available space. Steve has to wander amongst the crowd to realize there are couches and tables throughout the room. He marvels at people in various states of undress, drugs casual like people are sitting for coffee, dancing so close to sex that Steve has to avert his eyes or let his face blush to his hairline. Steve has no idea where they’re going, just keeps close to Billy’s back and keeps an eye on all those sandy curls. 

The crowd parts for Billy without a single word from him. Recognition lights up on some of the more lucid faces. People even reach out with appreciative hands to touch Billy, his hair, his clothes. Billy trades ‘hey’ and ‘what’s up’ with some of them, discourages the hands of others. None of these people are the one Billy is searching for. Steve trails along, jumping at every foreign touch to his body, and hopes they find who Billy is looking for soon. He’s used to the crush of a party crowd. Just not the friendly hands. Or people murmuring just loud enough about him that he catches every lewd word they say. With so much unwanted attention, Steve needs something to take the edge off. It’s too crowded in here. 

“Marco!” Billy shouts over the crowd. “Hey, Marco!”

Steve snorts under his breath and mumbles, “Polo.” Billy doesn’t hear him, but Steve thinks it’s funny. 

A short guy, not a hair taller than Nancy, spins to face them with a drink in hand. A white cape lined with fur swirls around him when he does. The suit he wears is just as brilliant and white, huge lapels like he’s ripped the suit right out of _Scarface_. Steve wonders where the shoulder pads begin and end on this Marco guy. 

Marco jumps when he finally realizes who has called him out. He can’t get rid of his drink fast enough to clap his hands a few times. That round face smiles as wide it can. It’s too loud here in the thick of the action to have an actual conversation, though. Steve startles when Marco grabs Billy by the hand to lead him away and Billy grabs him on reflex. They’re a chain of bodies as Marco leads them to the side of the room where huge, glass panes are pushed aside to allow the dance floor and party to spill into the night. Other people gather out here, too. It’s quieter. More places to sit. 

The moment they’re free of the cloud of music, Marco explodes with, “Billy! I’m so glad you made it! I was bragging to everyone that Frankie’s darling was supposed to show up, and you’re here!”

Walking as he talks, Marco leads them to a table where an actual bartender mans the liquor. Turning in the grass, small hands reach up for Billy’s face. They pet along his jaw and twirl a lock of hair around and around. Billy allows it, because Marco and Frankie are friends. Marco is paying for Frankie’s hospital room, day in and day out. Hell, Billy would probably drop to his knees and do whatever Marco wants if he asked. Billy is not Marco’s type, though. He should be grateful for that. Instead, blue eyes watch Steve frown and pout a little as Marco helps himself to Billy. It’s a thrilling sort of thought. That Steve doesn’t like it. 

Done with Billy’s face, Marco drags his hands down Billy's clothes. Short fingers fiddle with the open hem of Billy’s shirt as if to touch his bare skin. Steve can’t take it anymore, doesn’t know if he can stomach much more preening like this. It’s the first time he’s willing to admit he doesn’t want other people to touch Billy. Steve clears his throat behind Marco’s back to break the spell. He thinks he sees a flash of thanks on Billy’s face when Marco stops and turns to squint up at Steve. 

Recognition doesn’t dawn on Marco’s pinched face, but revelation does. 

“Oh,” he drawls with his voice pitching high. “Is this the one you asked to bring? Billy,” Marco practically gasps, already reaching for new prey. “Billy, he is just gorgeous, my god!

Steve laughs a little tense and uncomfortable as Marco gestures for him to bend down. So Marco can get a look and feel for him. With Frankie, it had been okay. He didn’t mind. This though…

Billy steps up to Marco’s side, stoops down, and whispers, “He’s from out of town. Isn’t… _that way_ , get it?”

Marco tuts and just as quickly drops his hands. 

“Nonsense, he’s too cute to waste on a dumb broad.”

Steve’s eye twitches and his hands clench at his sides. No one talks about Nancy like that. 

Marco just sighs and shakes his head. He’s wearing sunglasses even though it’s night outside…

“Well, it’s your loss, honey. It’s never too late to change teams!” He dismisses Steve at that point, leans a hand on Billy’s chest, and says, “I hope you stay awhile, Billy, the party is just getting started. Plenty of food and liquor”—he glances over the tops of his sunglasses—“anything else you want. Just take it, cutie pie. All right?”

Billy is better at faking politeness than Steve. Hell, his whole character is built on faking it. So Billy’s appreciative grin is loose and slick on his face like a real one. Only Steve picks up on the vein in Billy’s forehead. How his grin is a little more teeth than it usually is. Good. Billy is offended, too. They share the briefest of glances before Billy returns his attention to Marco. Hopefully to send the host away from them for the rest of the night. 

“You got it. Thanks, Marco, I’ll let you get back to your party. Steve, let’s wander around a little, yea?”

“Yea,” Steve grumbles. He marches past Marco’s short stature without another glance or word to the man. 

“It was nice to meet you, Stevie, have a good time!”

Steve tosses an annoyed grimace over his shoulder, but the crowd in the house has already swallowed Marco. At least he’s gone. Prick. 

“What the hell was that guy’s deal?” Steve complains the moment he’s beside Billy. “I don’t-I don’t think I’ve ever heard so much bullshit come from one person.”

“Yea,” Billy sighs long and low. Annoyed, too. “I’m not surprised he reacted like that. I just didn’t want him to get all handsy with you. That’s what I meant about establishing boundaries here. I brought you here, so he just assumed you were gay and”—Billy shrugs—“you were basically candy for him up until I said something. Hope you weren’t uncomfortable or anything.”

“Not about the gay thing, no. I don’t care about that. Just everything else.”

Billy leads them to a table spread out with finger foods and all sorts of shit neither boy recognizes. Billy snatches up what looks like pepperoni, gives it a sniff, and then eats it. Not bad. Spicy and a little high-brow for him. But not bad. 

“This crowd can be a lot. Sorry about that. Nobody else should really bother us too much. Marco should be the worst of it.”

Steve hums and glances around the table for something safe. Something he recognizes without question. Normally at parties he just cruises where the alcohol is. Seems like here he might have to walk up to the bartender and order something. Which complicates things, since besides a beer or something he can parrot—like Jack and Coke—he’s out of his depth. The longer he stares and thinks about the encounter just now, the less he wants to eat and drink. The more confused he is. 

“Billy, I got a question, um… why would everyone assume me being here with you makes me gay? Like I get if it’s a ‘gay house party’ or whatever you said, but—”

“That’s because everyone here is either gay or part of the community. You know. Queer.”

It’s not a word Steve would use lightly like Billy—it’s an insult to him, that word, ranking right up there with faggot. Billy saying it is okay, since he’s…

“So you're gay?”

Billy snorts with a mouthful of food. 

“Are we finally gonna have this conversation without being coy?”

Steve flusters, stutters to say something, but Billy grins and flicks his eyebrows suggestively before Steve can. 

“I thought you’d get it after I talked about Frankie fingerbanging me, but if I gotta spell it out for you: yes, Steve, I’m gay.” Billy gestures with a sweep of his arm to the house behind them, the party. “Probably the biggest gay here. Although not the most flaming one.”

The garden out here doesn’t provide much light other than a string of pale, white bulbs strung about the place. It’s a new moon tonight. Cloudy. Despite that, Billy practically feels the heat in Steve’s cheeks as he avoids Billy’s eyes. He’s cute like this, and Billy wishes he could freeze this moment and enjoy it a little longer.

Steve eventually gets his wits about him, orders all the facts and words, to say carefully, “I just thought you… liked everyone, I guess. Attracted to anyone.”

“Nah. I’ve never been hot on girls. They’re like, fun or whatever to tease. And it’s easy depending on the girl, if she likes the charming type.”

“Like you?” Steve asks with a little laugh and grin. That feels more natural between them than Steve stumbling to keep up. “You’re a real charmer, huh?”

Billy winks. 

“Worked on you, baby. I don’t hear any complaints.”

Steve nods and then glances to some people nearby. Now that Billy has pointed it out, really spelled it out for him, Steve does pick up on everyone in the crowd is a dude. Or at least looks like one. How dumb is Steve for not noticing? For not connecting the dots?

Like he feels Steve’s mood spiraling and directing that negativity inward, Billy reaches up to brush his knuckles over Steve’s bangs. He cleans up so well. Looks brilliant and slim in the outfit, hair big and fabulous with product in it. Tonight, Billy will have his hands full keeping _other_ hands off his Steve.

His Steve. 

“Hey. Don’t freak out. If you’re uncomfortable, we can leave, it’s not a big deal.”

“No, no, I’m not…” And Steve reaches up to shove the hair Billy had just pet, like he’s chasing the sensation with his fingers. “I’m not uncomfortable. I just feel dumb for not realizing it. I’ve got nothing against anybody here. Really.”

Billy believes him. Steve, despite his sheltered way and living in Bumfuck, Nowhere, is a good soul. A gentle soul under all the macho teenager bullshit. He’s lovely and kind and beautiful and so many other things. Billy had been right to trust Steve to not be a gay basher, just like he said to the gang that first night they hung out. He… just doesn’t want to overwhelm Steve. He doesn’t want to chase Steve away. 

Steve fiddles with his hair, rubs the back of his neck until he gathers the courage to say what’s been on his mind since his phone call with Nancy. He remembers her voice so clearly, reassuring him that his feelings were natural. That she supports him. That if anything happens…

‘I think that so long as I know what your intentions are, I’m okay with that.’

Steve blinks his lingering cowardice away and meets Billy’s eyes. They’re so close right now. If not for the breeze, he’d be able to feel Billy’s breaths. 

“I think it’s cool we’re here together. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. About myself. That maybe I’m… not only interested in girls.”

Billy can only manage a delicate, “Yea?”

Steve nods. If he dwells on the way Billy looks at him, expression honest and raw like when he’d said he trusts Billy, he’ll start to stutter and fuck up. So he doesn’t. 

“I don’t really know any people in Hawkins like that. Like this.” Steve flicks his hand to the party. “Like I’m sure there are… gay people or whatever in Hawkins. It’s just not something you can be open about there. Hell, Nancy and I hid us going out, so that should say something. I’m just… I’m happy I’m here. With you.”

Centering himself through calm breaths, Billy nods and gives a little tick up in his lips. To let Steve know he understands. That they’re cool. He too cannot look at Steve for long, can’t risk saying something too soon, and so makes eyes at the liquor and bartender. Marco really went all out for this one. A canopy strung between four poles in the ground gives the bartender some cover. Billy doubts it will rain tonight, but it makes the set up out here look nice. Professional. Hopefully the bastard has beer. 

“Lemme get you a drink. What do you want?”

“Uh, oh… I don’t know, I usually just drink whatever beer is at the party. I don’t know like—”

“I’ll figure out something.” Billy brushes against Steve as he leaves despite the wide open space around them. “Find us a place to hang out? Standing or sitting, inside or out doesn’t matter.”

“You don’t wanna mingle?” Steve calls at his back. 

“Nope,” Billy tosses over his shoulder. “I got you, don’t I?”

Yes. Yes, Billy has him. Steve stands a little dumbly at the table crowded with food and watches Billy’s back as he walks away. Billy’s shirt is still as sheer as when the night had started, so Steve actually has the pleasure of watching every muscle shift with each stride. Billy leans confident and sure on the table in front of the bartender, charm fully out in every inch of him. From his sparkling eyes, his grin, all the way down his strong body. Billy knows himself and how to use his assets to his advantage. Charming. 

“‘Worked on you,’ yea it fuckin worked on me,” Steve mumbles to himself. “He’s gotta know, right? He’s gotta see how gaga I am for him, like… Fuck.”

He can’t scrub a hand through his hair. He’ll ruin the careful lay of his bangs and mess up the spray. Focusing on the task Billy has set him to is the only way to keep Steve’s hands out of his hair. 

The outdoor space is quieter. Calmer. Maybe they’ll move into the heat of the party later. Once they have a few drinks in them, maybe smoke something. Steve would feel guilty about needing some liquid courage to dance with Billy or laugh and have fun with him. But they’ve done that before. They’ve had fun sober and buzzed, now. He’s not afraid of intimacy with others. A little inebriation will just hopefully untie his tongue. Settle his thoughts. 

Steve picks a spot close to the house. Two wicker chairs with cushions, a small table in front and between them is perfect. Spot found and no one around it, Steve’s mind turns back to food. If he’s going to get high but not knocked-off-his-ass high then he should eat a little something. Or maybe a little more than something, once he recalls Billy telling him about the ‘good shit’ here. Probably stronger than whatever shit Tommy can get his hands on. Steve hopes so, anyway. 

Billy still chats up the bartender when Steve wanders back to the food. His bark of charming laughter rings clear over the yard. Steve smiles down at his hands as it echoes. He can’t wait until Billy walks up with their drinks to probably complain about some aspect of the bartender. Something that had annoyed Billy that probably wouldn’t annoy anyone else. Billy here and around him helps loosen the tension in Steve’s shoulders. He should live a little. Take chances. 

To hell with sticking only to finger foods he recognizes!

When Billy swings around with his hands full and eyes casing the yard, he finds Steve with a plate of all sorts of shit on it. He picks through some of it now, making cute faces as he inspects unknown items. Billy keeps his strides even and gentle to not spill, even though he wants nothing more than to run. He has a beer in one hand and a pretty Cosmo in the other. It’s for Steve, because Steve is a hick teenager and has probably only ever drunk beer. So why not introduce him to something better? But just in case he doesn’t like it, Billy will trade him. If Steve is going to finally experience the gay lifestyle he’s been denied—ignoring the fact Steve isn’t gay, is probably bi, Billy would guess—then he’s going to experience a good drink. Not some crap at a bar when he eventually turns 21 and has no idea what to actually order. 

“Here you go, baby, try this on for size.”

Billy hands off the martini glass by the top of the stem. Steve’s first glance is curious, surprised. 

“What is it?”

“Cosmopolitan.”

“And… that is…?”

“Vodka and cranberry juice. Some other shit. Tastes good, but”—he points a finger in Steve’s face—“do not chug that. Sip it like you’ve seen your parents do with wine. Otherwise you will regret.”

Steve flicks up an eyebrow. 

“Why? Is it really strong or something?”

“No, but you’ve never had a mixed drink before. And if you’ve never had vodka period then you might cough. Always clears my sinuses.”

“This can’t be good,” Steve objects, but holds the glass close anyway. 

He trusts Billy. So he doesn’t hesitate much more than that and takes a little sip. And yea, his sinuses clear right up when the drink hits the back of his throat. Steve swallows, and then he wants to gasp a little. That’s a completely different feel in his mouth from beer. The cranberry is there, and something sweet, but he guesses the dryness is from the vodka. At least it’s smooth, goes down like ice water. Hard to believe he knows people who claim to drink vodka straight. Like they’re hardcore. 

“Huh.” Steve considers this ‘Cosmopolitan’ and swirls it a little. Billy had said to treat it like wine…

“Yea?” Billy asks behind his glass bottle. “What do you think?”

Steve turns the martini glass this way and that, even takes a second sip. 

“I don’t know if I like it yet. It’s not bad or anything.”

Billy helps himself to Steve’s little plate when he grunts, “Take another sip. Or take my beer if you really don’t want it.”

Huffing and rolling his eyes, Steve says haughtily, “I didn’t say anything about not wanting it.”

Billy hums, still picking through Steve’s plate, and then says with some excitement, “Oh shit, thanks Marco.”

He sits up at the same moment Steve swallows a larger sip. It’s… a little better, now. His mouth is more used to the vodka with repeated tastes. Still clears his sinuses, though. Steve sets the martini glass down on the table between then and quickly turns back to Billy. In his hand, Billy dangles a fruit Steve had picked up because of the sweet smell. It’s mostly purple. Teardrop shaped with the top curving just a little at the stem. Steve doesn’t know what it is or why the beginning of a grin creeps slowly onto Billy’s face. 

“What? What about Marco?”

Billy shakes the fruit at Steve. 

“You picked up a fig. I haven’t had one since the last time I was here. You like figs?”

Steve stares blankly. 

“I have no idea what that is.”

Billy shakes his head with his lips pouting a little. 

“That’s a damn shame. A real damn shame.” He straightens up from hunching over the plate and then leans full-body towards Steve. “Here, try it. I bet you love it.”

Steve snorts through a casual smile and reaches up to take the fig. But much like with the cigarette last night, Billy reels the fruit back in. 

“No, no, I want you to eat it.”

“I’m trying!”

“Come on, Steve, take a bite,” Billy teases as he leans all his weight on the arm of the chair. “I promise I won’t fake you out. Eat it.”

He’s about to climb into Steve’s lap at this point. Steve can’t help the almost-giggle that bubbles out of him as he shoves a hand to Billy’s. 

“Billy, stop!” He laughs. “I can feed myself.”

“‘Billy stop,’” Billy whines, mocking him. But he’s all grins and laughter in his eyes. The good kind. “Indulge me this one time, baby, and I won’t ask for anything else.”

Steve’s smile is still thick on his face when he gives in with a shake of his head. He doesn’t need to lean up or over much to meet Billy’s offering. The fig smells even sweeter up close. He has no idea how to eat one, but judging by Billy’s intense focus, Steve is supposed to just bite it like a peach. It’s a little soft and vaguely fuzzy like one anyway. 

It doesn’t taste anything like a peach. It’s like someone has shoved berries and honey and sweetness in his mouth all at once. It makes his mouth tingle a little like lemonade. He doesn’t even care about the weird, fleshy outside and sandy inside. Steve makes a noise with his teeth still sunk into the fig, pleasantly surprised. He wishes he’d taken a bigger bite. He also wishes he’d closed his eyes or something, because Billy looks like the devil himself. 

Beside him, Billy is in the shadow of the decorative lights. Always in shadow so that he can look at Steve in the perfect light. His eyes are hungrier than Steve has ever seen, the bright blue becoming something bottomless and terrible. It’s just a trick of the light, Steve knows, but he’s never felt a thrill run through him like this. Not fear just… tension. The knowledge that he is wanted, and the thing that wants him isn’t shy about it. 

Steve rushes a bare wrist up to his lips and chin when he finally bites off the fig. There’s no juice like he expects, but he needs something to shield himself a little from Billy. Billy still has smoldering eyes on Steve as he takes a turn himself, biting clear through the little dent Steve made. Where Steve’s mouth was. Trust Billy to make a simple thing intense and charged with his ridiculous blues and heavy eye contact. Jerk. 

“That was not what I expected,” Steve admits as he wipes his mouth on his wrist again. For something so sweet to not have juice… “Good, but didn’t expect that.”

Billy hums at that and finally hands the fig over for Steve to feed himself. When Steve makes no move to take it, Billy flicks an eyebrow up at him. Surely not… Would Steve do it again? Billy dares to think so and holds his breath as he offers an untouched side of the fig to Steve. Not to be outdone, Steve stares at him as he takes a second bite. It’s not quite the last of the fig. He leaves enough for Billy. If Billy wants it. He can’t get it in his mouth fast enough when Steve leans away. 

“So that was a fig,” Steve says distantly, like he’s not all here. “I liked it, I guess.”

“You wanna know the funny thing about figs?”

He won’t tell Steve wasps pollinate figs. Sometimes the wasps die inside the figs. That would be the best way to ruin this thick energy between them. He’s much more interested in seeing Steve’s reaction to the folklore behind figs. 

“What?”

Billy watches Steve hunch towards the plate to look for something else to eat. He frowns over cheeses that smell weird, crackers that are almost more seed than actual cracker. And the weird, cured meats…

“Figs are an aphrodisiac.”

Steve barks a laugh. 

“Shut the hell up, Billy, come on.”

“No, no, I’m being serious.” Billy knows his smirk says otherwise, but Steve only meets his eyes in that shy way of his. So some part of Steve believes him. “Figs, oysters, snails. All supposed to be aphrodisiacs. Are you saying you’re not feeling it?”

Steve rolls his eyes and huffs, “Billy, come on. That’s all bullshit, and you know it.”

Billy shrugs and leans forward to join Steve poking around. He has to strain to angle himself right next to Steve. The shoulders of their shirts almost touch. Red on black. 

“You really don’t feel it, Steve?” Billy murmurs near the wave of Steve’s hair. “You don’t feel that? In your **gut**?”

And now he does with Billy’s voice somehow finding that exact spot and jabbing it like a punch. Steve even jumps a little, throws himself into the backrest of the chair. The breeze out here has no chance of helping Steve with his overheating problem. Instead, Steve snatches the Cosmo from the table between them and knocks the rest back. He doesn’t catch Billy’s eyes going a little wide when it happens. Steve has to slam his eyes shut to another second of Billy’s intense focus or he’ll spontaneously combust. 

Gasping with the last of the vodka, Steve wheezes, “Another?”

He waggles the now-empty martini glass at Billy. Billy tries not to invent rejection in Steve’s request. That Billy has finally gone too far and it’s too much. And now Steve needs space. Steve could easily just get up and walk away, fake needing the bathroom. Instead he’s pretty as a peach with a pleasant flush staining his cheeks. Eyes and smile shy. 

“Please?”

Billy nods a little dumbly, snaps out of it when his voice doesn’t work. 

“Y-Yea, sure thing. You want another Cosmo or… ?”

Steve nods. Their fingers don’t touch when Billy accepts the glass, but Steve’s shyness remains. He feels giddy and ridiculous. It’s mostly the banter. They’ve never been so free before. They can say and practically do anything they want here. No one will turn a disgusted look or cause a scene. All the times he’s thought of holding Billy’s hand or Billy himself… It could all be real here. They could get close and love on each other here. Steve has always hated hiding with Nancy. 

“Billy?” He calls to that strong back already stalking away. 

Billy pauses mid-step, boot lifted, and glances over his shoulder.

“Yea?”

“I’m having fun… Do you wanna? Maybe drink another beer and? Dance?”

Billy is still frozen like that when he says softly, “Absolutely.”

No teasing. No pet name. Just that. Steve watches Billy go just like every other time. Not in a perverse way where he just ogles Billy’s shoulders or back. Like he suspects Billy does to him—only Billy probably stares at his ass. He’d much rather watch Billy’s back, the tense and pull of muscles under his shirt. Only last night Steve had that back pressed tightly to his chest. He wants to curse himself for wearing his shirt. He could have been skin-to-skin. He won’t mess that up again. Tonight, he will let himself revel in and experience every sensation with Billy. No more holding back. No more hiding.


	13. Beautiful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Billy take their mutual pining to the dance floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh here it is!!! One of the best chapters in this whole fucking fic. One of the pivotal scenes that made me writing the damn fic in the first place. I wanted there to be a LOT more dancing/grinding but eh whatever. Imagine the friction in your head lol. Please comment and enjoy~

Billy returns faster this time. He maybe mumbles something about this Cosmo being stronger than the first. More guests have arrived. The bartender can turn up the intensity now with more bodies out there. 

Steve accepts the warning for what it is but does not take it into consideration. The first sip tells him yes, it’s stronger. Not bad. Just more warmth in his stomach and helping him to float a little. He’s still got his head on when Billy leans into him and holds up something for him to smoke. His molten voice asks Steve if he wants to, he doesn’t have to, to take a light drag if he does. Steve doesn’t pay any mind to Billy’s fingers on his lips when he leans forward. It’s so much better than last time. Like he feels the lines of Billy’s fingers imprinting on him. He’ll remember them forever. 

And ah, there it is. The tops of his lungs burning with smoke. Steve sits up straight and sips a little more air. A little more still until his lungs are full and hurting. It’s only when the back of his throat burns and threatens to make him start coughing does he exhale away from Billy. Thick, white smoke plumes in the air before the breeze whisks it away. Instantly, the heat and buzzing creep up Steve’s spine. Like hundreds of fingers threading through the hair at the nape of his neck and running wild on his scalp. He’s buttery and soft when he shivers, when Billy is the one to take Steve’s drink from him. 

“You okay, baby?”

Billy’s voice is delayed in Steve’s ear, isn’t in sync with the puffs of Billy’s words in his ear. Steve can’t even feel the smile on his face. It’s all numb. A good kind of numb. 

“Yea, Billy. I’m real okay.”

Billy laughs in Steve’s ear he’s free and then, “Yea, you’re really feeling it, Steve. Maybe we should do a rain check on that dance.”

Steve turns his head and squints at Billy. 

“What, you don’t wanna dance with me? I see how it is. Telling me yes and then—”

“Oh no babe, I’m getting that dance one way or another. I don’t think you can stand up.”

“Can too,” Steve challenges, still squinting. 

Billy sits back and crosses his arms over his chest. His knees are far apart, taking up the most amount of space. 

“Okay, prove it then, pretty boy. Stand up and we’ll go dance right now.”

And Steve does try. He tries harder to stand up than he’s tried to do anything else in a while. His legs just don’t listen. Like they’re not his anymore. So, Steve tries to shove himself up with his arms. It’s a no go. Again, the legs mutinous. Steve ends up slumping to his right in a huff, leaning on the arm of the wicker chair until the reeds pinch him a little. He doesn’t care. Steve rests his head on his upper arm and watches Billy in the top of his vision. 

“I can’t.”

Billy’s smirk isn’t smug or boastful. Just amused. 

“Okay, then let’s sit here until you can. Then we’ll dance.”

Steve watches Billy take another hit, leaning away with a grin when Steve makes a lazy grab for him to share. Whatever they’re smoking, it’s not too harsh. Doesn’t burn too hot for Steve. He’s a wuss and can’t smoke joints after they’re about three-quarters gone. The heat is too much on his lips, in his mouth. Like that, he coughs so hard he almost throws up. It’s not like that with Billy. Billy knows he shouldn’t have more. That doesn’t stop Steve from pouting as Billy watches him in the white cloud he puffs around them. 

“Hey, I have a question… A weed question.”

Billy mumbles, “Oh my god,” under his breath, contains his building amusement, and says, “Go ahead, Steve. I want to hear your weed question.”

Steve sticks his tongue out at Billy. He knows when he’s being mocked. But still he asks, “I’ve seen people do this at parties, but it looks stupid. They like… someone takes a hit and like exhales in your mouth? Looks like they’re kissing? That doesn’t work, right?”

“They’re not exhaling,” Billy says carefully, without the normal ridicule. “They’re holding the smoke in their mouth and then blowing it into yours. And then you inhale. It’s literally easier to just take a normal hit.”

“So you think it’s stupid?”

Billy pauses, fingers pinching the twisted end of the joint he’d snagged from the bartender. Of course he thinks it’s stupid. He just said exactly why it’s stupid. But Steve is looking at him with lazy, hooded eyes, waiting for a response. Steve doesn’t deserve a lie just because Billy thinks it’s what he wants to hear. 

Billy admits gently, “I do think it’s stupid. That wouldn’t stop me from doing it, though.”

Now is when Steve will offer. Steve will sit up with a goofy grin, slur his words, and then say they should. And then it will happen. 

Instead, Steve nods and says, “Yea, that’s what I was thinking. You’re right, it is just easier to smoke yourself. But hey, now I know.”

He can’t pretend he isn’t a little disappointed. Steve’s goofy grin does show up, though, so Billy takes it as consolation. He perks right back up when Steve sighs and shoves himself to his feet without preamble. He only stumbles a little. 

“Nice, stuck the landing.”

Steve squats a little and sticks his arms out straight out like an Olympic athlete, grin even wider when he angles it at Billy. An ashtray rests next to their abandoned drinks. Bill snatched his beer to chug the last of it. That done, he gently smothers the ember of the joint amongst cigarette ash and butts. No use wasting it, even if it’s free. When he rights himself, Steve is there, gaze hot on Billy’s rumpled shirt. 

“Your shirt is, uh, messed up.”

It’s come a little loose from his pants. It needs to be tucked back in. Billy won’t, though. Not when they’re about to dance and he wants every inch of him pressed to Steve. Too much clothes in the way ruins it. Knowing Billy’s luck they won’t dance for long anyway. Something will happen to screw up his time. 

Billy steps up to Steve and debates what to do. He could just tell Steve to follow him. Could just walk away with a meaningful look and trust Steve’s high-ass to get it. Not that he’s not feeling it. Steve’s eyes are on him and not the way his knees tremble. Billy rubs his fingertips against his jeans, knowing they’re ice cold. If he lets them get too cold, the nail beds of his thumbs will turn a little purple. That when he knows he’s too cold. 

“Well?” Steve grunts with his voice rough. “Are you gonna dance with me or what?”

Between them, their hands brush. Like last night at the drive-in. Shit, that had only been twenty-four hours ago. So much has happened since then. They had a damn heart-to-heart on the drive up. Billy told Steve about his mom. He told Steve point-blank he’s gay. And Steve admitted to him he might not be as straight as he thought. They’re so far away from Steve hyperventilating in the dusty lot. Billy’s eyes flutter with the weight of his lids. He sways on his feet a little. 

He grabs Steve’s hand before he has time to chicken out. Steve whines just a little as Billy pulls him into the house. He thinks he hears the poor baby whine about Billy’s cold fingers. They’ll heat up soon enough in this gyrating mass of bodies. Whereas Steve had shied away from watching the others in the crowd, has his head ducked down a little right now, Billy looks. They’re all on display for each other. Look at me, no look at me. Billy appraises all of them and deems them not worthy. Why fool with any of them when he has the perfect partner wrapped around his hand?

Billy picks a spot for them. Far enough from the turntable and the speakers so they don’t go deaf but still in the thick of it. People make room for them, even try to reach out and touch them. He rebukes all, turns a wild snarl on any who dare to turn those hands towards Steve. Billy takes Steve by the hips before anyone else can and draws their bodies together. It knocks the air out of Steve. His grunt puffs on Billy’s lips. 

“Billy…” Steve’s shoulders hunch a little. He looks around with a nervous smile. “There are… a lot of people. Looking at us…”

“Hey,” Billy murmurs right back. “Look at me.”

Billy doesn’t hear the little noise Steve makes. He feels it tickling between Steve’s ribs and then straight through his. Billy squeezes the hips in his hands just to feel that again. 

“They’re looking at you, because you’re beautiful. You get me?”

“Pft, shut up.”

Some of Steve’s nerves melt all according to Billy’s plan. Billy jostles them in place, not quite rubbing them together. Steve smiles soft in his face like he’s caught in the middle of a dream. 

“I mean it,” he promises. “You’re beautiful. And people like looking at beautiful things.”

“Says you,” Steve scoffs with a wiry grin. He lifts a weak hand up to ghost his fingers over the curl Billy has perpetually spilling over his eyes. “Says the hottest guy I’ve ever seen.”

He has nothing to say to that. Billy has eyes, knows what he looks like. A curl of pleasure sits heavy in his stomach where he brushes Steve’s body. Back and forth. Billy doesn’t pick up on him slowly swaying them to the song. It’s not his usual taste, but David Bowie’s got it going on in this song. It’s a faster song, but Billy has them shifting together at half the speed. 

“Let’s dance,” Billy mimes along with the lyrics, winking at Steve. 

Just as quickly as Steve’s nerves are subdued, though, they rise back up. 

Steve frowns a little at him and mumbles, “Billy, I don’t know how to dance with guys.”

He says it so full of hurt, like he’s only just now discovered the mishap. Billy could kiss him. But not yet. Instead he shakes his head like Steve has said something silly. Because he has. 

“You’re dancing with me right now, baby. Here”—Billy peels away from Steve’s hips long enough to grab Steve’s limp hands and guide them where he wants—“hold me like I’m holding you. We’re dancing.”

“Feels weird,” Steve protests immediately. “Cramped.”

Steve shifts his hold on his own accord, but he’s kind enough to not trap Billy’s hair under his arms when he encircles Billy’s neck. Steve slides his hands slow and messy between their chests and then scoops Billy’s hair off his neck. That feels more natural. Of course it’s not where he would hold Nancy. No, he’d be the one getting handsy with her hips like Billy is with him right now. Billy’s thumbs roll into the dips of Steve’s hips through his jeans. He’s not wearing underwear like Billy told him to. Maybe Billy can tell. 

Steve sighs in Billy’s face, “This is better.”

Billy’s voice isn’t as steady as it could be. 

“Yea? Like this?”

Billy moves them a little more, a little harder. Every inch of him is electric as he watches Steve’s breath flutter in his throat, feels Steve lick his lips more than he sees it. It’s building up, now. All this tension between them as they ratchet up this roller coaster. They’re about to reach the big drop at the top of the hill. Billy sways them that much more and tries to coax Steve to move with him. Steve is as stiff as a board, and not in a good way. 

“Steve, baby, look at me.”

And Steve blinks doe eyes at him, hums a little. 

Billy squeezes Steve’s hips and pleads, “Dance with me? Move like I do, Steve, it’s okay. You feel so good right now.”

Even Steve’s ears blush under that praise. It feels silly, like he should laugh or tell Billy to quit. 

Instead he says with his eyes down, “Sorry.”

Billy tips up on his toes a little to rub their cheeks together. Steve is a furnace against the ravenous chill in him. Steve’s arms tighten around Billy’s neck, clinging to him like he’ll never let go. That welcomes Billy’s hands to go slipping around Steve to hold him, too. They shuffle on their feet to fit better together. Billy is the first to groan, hides it right in Steve’s hair. Steve’s answering sound, tiny and shy, tickles Billy. Some of the tension slips out of Steve at that moment. David Bowie still purrs on the speakers, so Billy builds them up to the true beat of the song.

The saxophones backing Bowie up give Billy a chance to really swirl his body into Steve’s. And with his grip, he guides Steve to move against him, too. Steve hums pretty and light in Billy’s ear, snaps his hips to the beat on his own. Billy’s warm voice shushes Steve, murmurs how good he’s doing. Steve relaxes more and more under that praise until the back and forth of their hips is timed perfectly. Steve trembles in Billy’s hands, opens his eyes for just a moment, and then goes under again. He must finally feel the charge running through them. Billy plucks at it tenderly with every sway of their bodies, playing Steve beautifully.

The song fades, but before it can die another starts. Still not Billy’s taste. Prince had released a new album a few weeks ago back in June. He expects them to play one of the big hits from the record. Not the shortest song on the damn album. It’s a swanky song, one that Billy can rock his hips into. He breathes in through Steve’s hair to get a taste of him and finds himself humming to Prince’s voice. He can’t hear the words until the chorus, and he murmurs them rumbling and deep in Steve’s ear. 

“I would die for you, yea, darling if you want me to.”

Steve shudders against him and tangles his fingers in Billy’s hair. His voice is so much deeper with their chests touching like this. Every rumble sinks into Steve’s skin and then puddles in his belly. He gives a pitiful whine in Bill’s ear, rocks a little harder against him with another noise. Billy just keeps on mouthing the lyrics in his ear. Even when Steve pulls away with his eyes watery and wide, heart choking him. 

Billy’s face is peaceful, gaze intense from under his dark eyelashes when he mouths the next words silently this time. 

“All I really need is to know that you believe, yea, I would die for you, yea, darling if you want me to…”

Steve’s body stops swaying at that point and goes tense against Billy. He just holds as tightly as he can to Billy’s neck and hides his face in Billy’s hair. Billy is so cold under his clothes, like he just can’t get warm. Steve pants in Billy’s ear as each breath grows tighter than the last. Like he’ll stop breathing all together. At least Billy’s hands flatten in the small of his back. They hold him low and firm so Steve knows he’s right there. The song ends so quickly, too short for how beautiful and heart wrenching it is. Queen comes on next, something fun and fast, the opposite of Prince’s passionate lament. Steve shakes hard and pries them apart to look in Billy’s face. 

Billy is just as stricken and awed as Steve when Steve says, “Feel like ‘m gonna be sick…”

Billy goes on staring for a few seconds. Steve’s words hit him so delayed he has to blink a few times. Of course. Billy had known that of course something would happen. They’d been in it. He had Steve so good in his arms, so loose and finally relaxing into the rhythm of dancing. Billy knows distantly they’re hard against each other. His thigh squeezed between Steve’s, muscle firm at the V of those legs, tells him all he needs to know. But…

Sighing and nodding, Billy loosens his arms around Steve. His chest aches like someone stands on it when Steve’s arms slip away. 

“Okay, um you wanna sit down? Find a bathroom?”

“Bathroom,” he groans. 

Could be worse. If Steve is gonna be sick, at least he hasn’t yet. Billy nods, scrubs fingers through his hair, and then takes Steve’s hand again. That coaxes a smile out of Steve and a squeeze to his hand. There are at least four bathrooms in this house. That Billy knows of. The one on the ground floor is locked when they try it. Next floor is blessedly free. It’s even pretty quiet up here. The bass still reaches them. 

“Okay babe, here we go,” Billy flicks the light on and drops Steve’s hand. Not that he wants to. “I’ll wait right here, just sit as long as you want.”

“Will you come in with me?”

Billy winces in sympathy. 

“Need me to hold your hair?”

Steve holds his arms, stares at the floor, and then shakes his head. His hair falls in his eyes. 

“No, just… come in with me. Please?”

Steve doesn’t need to beg. Doesn’t need the second please either. Billy is his and Steve doesn’t even know it. Billy sweeps a hand to the small of Steve’s back to usher him in first. Billy is the one to nudge the door shut with his boot. He makes sure to lock the door. Sucks for anyone who needs the bathroom. Hopefully they go down the hall to the next one. Billy steadies himself with his back still to the bathroom. He is ready to take care of Steve no matter what comes out of him…

When he turns around, he finds Steve trying to hop up on the vanity sink. His scrambles and flails as the curve of ass keeps sliding off the edge of the marble. Or granite. Whatever Marco has in here, Billy doesn’t give a shit. Billy swallows a snort and forces the amusement onto his lips instead. Steve sees the smirk for what it is and makes a petulant sound. Demanding help. 

Billy’s hips sway when he side-steps closer. He can’t help but give a glance to himself in the mirror, looking good. Billy’s smirk grows a little wider as Steve watches him, full attention now. He readies himself to hop again, bobbing his head to the count of three. When he hits three, Billy grabs him by the hips and helps lift his ass over the edge. Finally Steve sits on the wide, long vanity. Steve’s knees are touching when Billy continues to stand there, hands warm over the same spots as before on the dance floor. When Billy presses forward, belt buckles brushing Steve’s knees, those long legs part to draw Billy closer. Steve’s thighs hug Billy’s hips, squeeze him back when Billy’s hands tighten on him. 

“You okay?” Billy asks up at Steve. Steve is taller now because of the vanity. “How do you feel?”

“Hot. It was… too hot down there.”

Billy nods while his voice grows thick in his throat. It is painfully quiet in here. His ears are muffled with cotton like he’s just come back from a concert. It’s not that loud downstairs. Maybe it’s the abrupt change. He would give almost anything to go back down there and try again. Steve is just nervous and shy in this environment. Billy bets when he’s got that little girlfriend on his arm—

No. Billy closes his eyes to Steve’s blushing face watching him. No. He’s not doing that right now. He’s not going to compare himself to Steve’s Nancy. She’s not here. She’s not even in the same picture as them right now. Billy had just wanted one night, one fucking night…

“Billy?”

Steve’s voice is stricken and hurt again. Billy peers through heavy lids at Steve’s face turned down, avoiding Billy’s eyes. 

“What is it, beautiful?”

He can’t help himself when he reaches up with the curl of his rough knuckles to caress Steve’s jaw. Steve is all beautiful, sloping lines to Billy’s chiseled features. Like someone has coaxed Steve out of marble. He was always in there, waiting to  **be** . Someone just piled a bunch of rocks together to make Billy and called it done. Somehow those rocks just fit together to make his dumb face. It’s a dumb face Steve must like, because he finally picks his head up and reaches with a shaky hand towards Billy. His fingers are so warm when he follows the shadow on Billy’s cheek. 

“Are you mad at me?”

Steve’s skin calls to him, so Billy stops fighting it. His palm eagerly eats up the warmth in Steve’s cheek when he holds him. Steve looks up a little more, even leans his head into Billy’s hand. Steve’s plops back to his thigh like someone has cut his strings. 

“Never,” Billy confesses like he’s at an altar. “I could never be mad at you. At least not for long.”

That does the trick, dusts off some of Steve’s uncertainty to reveal a shy smile. 

“I’m… still having fun. I just need a minute.”

“Take your time. I’ll be right here.”

Steve just turns his head more into Billy’s palm, tip of his graceful nose brushing skin. He breathes on Billy’s inner wrist next with his balance still spinning. He just needs a calm place to… stop the world from tilting around him. And he doesn’t want to be alone. Steve cracks an eye open to watch Billy. He wants to touch Billy more. If only he could ignore all the eyes out there watching him. If only he could be free. Like Billy. 

“I liked dancing with you,” Steve rambles. “Even if I’m shit at it.”

“At least you didn’t step on my feet.”

They share a grin over that. They’re so close like this. Steve just wants to share this unbearable heat under his skin. Billy is cold even through their clothes. Pouting, Steve sits up from leaning on the mirror behind him and hops forward. Billy’s eyes widen a bit as he watches. Now Billy is properly between Steve’s legs. They know what to do better than Steve when they wrap around Billy, ankles crossing on top of Billy’s ass. It’s not close enough, not good enough. The sliver of Billy’s chest is still bare, must be cold. Steve threads his arms back around Billy’s neck to bring him the final few inches closer. Billy’s eyes are so wide, so blue…

“Billy?”

Billy’s breaths are shallow when he whispers, “Steve?”

Steve already has the head tilt going on. His whole body screams it. Shoulders down. Chin angled to make this easier. But he doesn’t seal the deal. Licks his lips instead and keeps glancing between Billy’s wide eyes and the pink of his mouth. How long has he wanted this? 

“Can I… Will you kiss me? Please?”

Billy doesn’t need to be asked twice. Steve wants Billy to kiss him. The phrasing is what curls fingers around Billy’s heart and has him surging forward. Steve’s mouth flinches under him as they press Steve’s lips to his teeth. Billy doesn’t mean to go so hard, backs off that cruel pressure immediately. A little noise, appreciative, tickles their lips. Billy isn’t sure who’d made it. He goes right on holding Steve’s blushing cheek as that first press becomes two, three, and then Steve opens to him. 

It’s like they can’t get close enough. Steve’s legs snap around Billy and crush them together. It’s still not enough. Steve’s hands wind messy curls around and around his fingers just to feel more. Billy’s grip is just on the mean side of harsh at Steve’s hip. It’ll be sore after this, after Billy yanks him forward to rock their bodies together. Steve groans pitiful and open-mouthed between kisses. He has to close his eyes, has to shield himself from the blue fire of Billy’s eyes. 

The bathroom is still hushed, still a sanctuary even with their loud breaths, the wet slide of their mouths together. He’s wanted to kiss Steve since pulling the fool out of the ocean, sprawled on his back in the surf like a turtle. Billy’s palm, hot at Steve’s cheek, goes sliding into thick hair so he can twist strands through his fingers and tug. Steve jumps against him and whines, but Billy just eats up every sound. His lips will go numb like this, pressing and sliding against Steve’s between gasped breaths. Billy is a novice all over again, kissing too hard and with his mouth too wide just to get every bit of Steve he can. 

He’s kissed Steve’s poor mouth red and messy when he pulls back. Steve’s hands in his hair don’t let Billy go far even as Steve frowns and tries to kiss him again. 

“Don’t,” Steve whines. “Don’t, I don’t want you to stop.”

“I’m not,” Billy slurs with Steve’s lips already mouthing at his. He grins through it. “Just wanna look at you.”

Steve’s eyebrows draw together when he shuts his eyes and breathes, “Billy…”

Billy tilts his head the way Steve wants. The push and pull of their lips this time is slower. Better somehow than them crashing together like animals. Steve knows how to do this, Billy knows that. There’s no way he doesn’t. Still, he’s so shy while kissing Billy back, would rather let Billy lap into his mouth and let Billy take control. Not that Billy is complaining.

Steve’s noises are the cute, needy sort. They go perfectly with the deeper rumble in Billy’s throat, the gentle way he rocks their hardons together. Billy keeps his eyes cracked open just in case Steve gathers the courage to look at him, too. He can’t see the way Steve’s nose smashes a little against his cheek. Billy would grin full of affection if he could. 

When they separate this time—to breathe, to gather themselves, to slow down, whatever—Steve leans his forehead into Billy’s. Their hair is wild and disturbed from the other’s hands. Billy unwinds brown strands from his fingers to hold the nape of Steve’s neck instead. They just lean together and breathe each other in. How long has Steve wanted this? How long has he sweated about wanting another boy and not knowing what to do about it? He’d told his little Nancy, Billy bets. Steve is so loyal, so loving. He would never stray. Billy… doesn’t want him to. He doesn’t want to hurt Steve. 

“Baby? You with me?”

Steve nods a little. 

“Yea,” he sighs. 

“You okay?”

Brown eyes slip open and out of focus to meet Billy’s blues. Maybe now Steve will sober up a little, sit back, reel in all his honest desire. It wouldn’t surprise Billy at all. Wouldn’t be the first time it happened to him. He’s careful to make no demands of Steve, to not steal his breath and kiss Steve until all he thinks about is Billy. Steve swallows hard while still watching him. Steve licks his lips, and Billy can’t help darting his tongue out to help. Steve’s breaths go all funny and stuttered, eyes falling shut again. Peaceful. 

Steve whispers, “I’m okay.” Quieter, rougher, he pleads, “Want you.”

Billy doesn’t even grin, even though Steve’s confession tickles him so. 

“What do you want, beautiful? Tell me.” He squeezes his hands on Steve, swirls their hips together. All to see Steve’s eyes roll back a little under his lids. “Tell me what you want, anything, I’ll do it, Steve.”

Steve face flushes impossibly hotter. Billy finds out why when Steve’s hips give a little pop against him. And isn’t that just syrup dripping all down Billy’s spine, curling hot and burning in his stomach. Billy doesn’t mean to let his groan slip out loud and unbound. It curls over Steve’s lips, fills his mouth. Billy isn’t even sorry. He takes a ragged breath in. Carefully, in case it had been a mistake, he rocks back into Steve’s erection. 

“Is that what you want? Huh?”

Steve just repeats himself, a little desperate, a little more needy, “Want you.”

The distinction is lost on Billy. Steve wants whatever Billy will do to him here in this rich guy’s bathroom. Them grinding on each other is just fine. Before he goes under again with his mouth full of Billy’s tongue and his own little noises, Steve distantly hopes he’s not hurting Billy. That his legs around Billy aren’t too tight. That he’s not pulling Billy’s hair. Billy surges against him with a deep noise and a filthy roll of their bodies. He does it again when Steve’s breath stutters out his nose. It’s so simple, just them squirming and grinding through their clothes, but Steve has never been so keyed up before. He needs it like air. 

Steve almost bites Billy’s bottom lip when he gasps his name. He shivers from the loss of Billy’s hand at his neck. But Steve’s petulance instantly evaporates when Billy just takes Steve by the hips again. Like this, Billy leans hard between Steve’s trembling thighs. Steve’s body is Billy’s to use as he starts a rhythm. They’re dancing again when Steve gives feeble twitches in Billy’s powerful grip. Now both hips will smart later. Fingers tight in Billy’s hair and lips buzzing, Steve knows he’ll reminisce over that pain for a long time. 

It won’t take much like this. Steve has been too afraid to jerk off after that first time. Too afraid it would be cheating on Nancy, too afraid he’d lose himself after receiving Nancy’s permission. He doesn’t know just how wound up he is until he’s already on the tipping edge. What would it be like with their clothes off? Hot velvet on hotter velvet, straining against each other and sweaty? Steve shudders hard like someone plucks a string inside him. It starts behind his navel and sinks down between his legs where he’s sure he can feel the outline of Billy through his jeans. He wants to reach down, wants to touch, wants to slip his fingers under Billy’s waistband and feel the wet. 

“Billy,” Steve whimpers into their next kiss. He isn’t even trying to keep up with Billy diving into him, biting and licking like he can’t get enough. “Billy, please, fuck.”

It’s the prettiest thing Billy has ever heard. A punch to his gut that has him twitching and gushing in his pants. This... is going to be a sticky, uncomfortable ride home. Billy doesn’t care, is too wound up to stop. And Steve doesn’t say stop. So he won’t. He’ll push and rut until Steve is clinging to him all sweet and they fall over the edge together. Billy won’t let him down, won’t let him go. He has to stop kissing Steve to pant open-mouthed with him. Steve’s eyes are watery and barely open when Billy tunes into them looking at him. Finally seeing him. 

“Steve,” Billy groans. 

Anyone walking by would hear Billy’s punched-out groan. He’s not ashamed of it. He cherishes Steve shaking in his arms, against him, slim hips rutting with him. Billy scoots Steve all the way to the edge of the vanity until he’s almost falling off. This way, Billy can gather his legs under himself, use the leverage just right to force them harder together. He wants Steve shaking in his arms and coming undone and coming just from this. Steve clings tighter to his neck and pants pretty noises on Billy’s cheek. Steve jerks hard and chokes on his next breath, and Billy knows he’s done. 

Steve’s toes curl so hard in his shoes that it hurts. It’s a distant burn to the cold flame of his orgasm, like he’s over sensitive immediately. It’s all he can do to cling to Billy and pop his hips to every spurt. He wants Billy to come to, turn his loose lips to mouth at Billy. Steve shudders and hums when Billy meets him, lips and teeth gentle with him again. Steve is a sweaty, damp mess in all the right places, but he wants it to be good for Billy, too. So he tightens his shaking legs around Billy to urge him to keep thrusting. 

“You too,” Steve pants into Billy’s mouth.

Billy knows what he means. Has to bite back a whine in his throat from how much it means to him. That Steve wants him to come, too. He doesn’t want to hurt Steve now that Steve is done, so Billy tries to just rub against Steve’s thigh. It’s not as good, but it’s good enough for him. Especially with Steve all curled up around him, legs crossed and moving with Billy. Billy groans again into the lippy, shallow kisses Steve mouths at him. If only he could have Steve naked and sprawled out. Watch his pretty flush creep all the way down his chest and watch Steve shuddering with his head tilted back, throat working over Billy’s name. 

“Billy.”

A whine is what he gets. It’s what he needs, because he slams against Steve and arches up on his toes when he comes. Billy loses his footing almost immediately, but he scrambles to catch himself. Steve’s arms and legs around him help, take his dense weight and wedge him there against the vanity. Everything under Billy’s navel kicks and jumps as he spills against his zipper digging into him. It’ll hurt later. His scalp from Steve’s fingers and his mouth from Steve’s kisses will hurt later. He doesn’t care. 

“Fuck,” he sighs in Steve’s ruined hair, both of them still shaking. “Fuck, Steve…”

Steve is just as shy as when they’d started. Too squirmy and nervous to meet Billy’s eyes for long. Billy shakes his tingly, left hand free of Steve’s hip only to pet his jaw. Steve is pink to his ears and hairline, huffs and rolls his eyes like it’s no big deal. Billy just rubs his fingers up and down Steve’s jaw until those doe eyes look at him. 

“Beautiful. Jesus, you’re beautiful.”

Steve smirks sloppy against Billy’s palm and slurs, “Who is this Jesus guy? I thought you were making out with me.”

It’s not awkward. Steve isn’t retreating. Isn’t pretending like nothing happened. Billy stands there with their bodies still tight together, not saying anything. 

And then he laughs. Soft at first, and then louder until he throws his head back to let the sound bounce off the high ceiling. He hugs Steve to him with his laughs buried in Steve’s shoulder. He’ll need to wash Frankie’s clothes to get the sweat, weed, and come smells out of them. It’s disgusting, but Billy presses his nose and mouth to Steve anyway. If not for Steve’s worry, if not for Billy’s uncertainty, he’d tug Steve’s pants down and suck him off until he came again. He wants so much after this first, little taste. He hopes Steve will let him again and again. 

Steve shakes against him, too, tucking laughter into Billy’s hair. Steve’s head is a firm pressure and weight when he leans on Billy. Warm breaths sink through sandy locks, Steve’s long fingers reaching up to follow. Billy bumps his head into Steve’s palm, keep going, it’s okay to touch me, I want you to. Steve’s other arm finally loosens around Billy’s neck. He doesn’t mind when Steve just slips it under Billy’s arm to hold him around his back. They sigh as one, finish their nuzzling and laughing, and then sit up. 

“You don’t know how long—”

“Fuck, I wanted that so bad—”

Their words come to a gentle halt. And they just watch each other for a spell. How terribly they’ve wanted each other, denied themselves until this moment of freedom and acceptance. If Billy had only known it would take a dancing crowd of gay men to get Steve to act on his desires… He would have done this so much sooner. He doesn’t point that out, though. Just shakes his head like this is funny and thumbs at the corner of Steve’s mouth. 

“At least we finally figured it out,” Billy says like a consolation prize. As if they need one. “Glad we can finally see eye to eye.”

“Me, too. I thought since, um, since you called me at the hotel the first time that maybe… you were interested. Or curious, I don’t know.”

Earlier than that, but Billy nods. 

“I was. Am.” His fingers are careful as they pet the apple of Steve’s cheek. “You?”

Oh and how it tickles Billy so much, has a filthy grin on his face when Steve’s blush returns with a vengeance. 

“Uh…”

“Now, come on baby, don’t hold out on me,” Billy says nice and sweet despite his devilish mouth. “Tell me. Pretty please?”

Steve glances away when he murmurs between tight lips, “You remember how I accidentally took your leather jacket? When you brought me back to the hotel the first night?”

Billy sees stars, can barely breathe, but he musters a, “Yea?”

Pouting, Steve glances sideways at him and admits, “I may have… possibly woke up in it and jerked off while smelling it.”

It’s an animal thought like fight, fly, or fuck. Billy’s shudder begins in the nape of his neck, pets over his chest and back, and then settles heavy in his gut. Steve… did that. Probably curled up and made all his pretty noises with his pretty hands on that pretty dick of his… 

Billy has to force his eyes back open, unsure of when they’d closed, and angles all that desire Steve’s way. Steve has the decency once again to look a little bashful. 

“Is that bad?”

“No.” Billy leans forward for just a little kiss, just a plush press of their lips and no more. It means everything that Steve meets him halfway. “No, baby, it’s the hottest fucking thing anyone has ever said to me.”

Now Steve laughs a little and nudges Billy away. It’s playful, though. Full of affection in his sparkling eyes and dimpled cheeks. 

“Come on, it’s gross. I didn’t even really know you, was just… acting on a fantasy or whatever. Trust me, it wasn’t as hot as you’re making it out.”

No, no it is, but not in any way Billy can begin to explain. So he lets that go in favor of picking up a topic that has bothered him since Steve had first whispered, ‘Want you.’

“So Steve…” It’s Billy’s turn to play coy, to avoid meeting Steve’s eyes. Avoid the uncomfortable truth. “About… your girlfriend…”

Steve perks up and says like the answer to a trivia question, “Oh, she knows. I told her about you, remember?”

Billy blinks at him, mouth a little slack. 

“Yea… I remember you saying that. But what does that mean?”

Steve swallows and carefully unwinds his arms from around Billy. But doesn’t let him go. Instead Steve twists his fingers in the open edges of Billy’s shirt. His nails brush skin and make Billy shiver, but they’re not here for that. They need to talk. Billy needs to make sure he hasn't hurt Steve. 

“I… I was thinking about you a lot after we got into that fight. Argument or whatever. About Frankie.” Steve looks at him pointedly. “I was bummed out thinking you’d never wanna talk to me again. Even though we only met like the day before. I just wanted to see you again, and I had all these feelings, and I didn’t know what they meant or what to do with them.”

Billy nods carefully. 

“So you called your girl.”

“Yea, cuz Nancy is probably the smartest person I know. At least when it comes to…” Steve makes a face and gives a wild shrug. “Feelings and bullshit. So I told her the truth.”

“The truth?”

Shy again with his head turned away, pink cheek to Billy, Steve mumbles, “That I like you.”

Billy snorts and drawls, “Well yea, babe, that’s obvious. You needed your girlfriend to tell you that?”

But Steve glances up at him through his bangs, still shy, and says, “No, Billy. I  **like** you.”

Steve stresses it like Billy is thickheaded. Like Billy doesn’t  _ get _ it. He stands there grinning like a clown, in on the joke, for a few seconds more. Steve holds their stare all the while. The longer it lasts, the more Billy realizes what he means. 

Oh.

_ Oh _ . 

“You…”

Steve rolls his lips flat and then gives a single nod. 

“Oh…”

Steve’s shoulders draw up at the little breath of sound Billy gives. He needs to nip that right in the bud. Needs to drive all the insecure doubt from Steve. Billy leans close again with his eyes mercifully shut to kiss Steve’s cheek. It’s somehow more tender and meaningful than everything else they’d just done. When Billy goes to pull back, Steve darts quick lips to his to steal a kiss. He holds Billy’s intense gaze for as long as he can without a squirm but drops it in the end. It’s the sweetest thing. 

“So… now you know,” Steve mumbles. 

Billy nods and repeats, a little awed, “You like me…”

Still, Nancy is a sore point. Billy has to know. 

“What did she say about that?”

Steve gives a wiry smile. 

“That she was actually going through the same thing. She likes me and someone else. That she didn’t know how to tell me.” Steve’s fingers slow to a stop where they’re still playing with Billy’s shirt. “She said she was okay with how I feel. That if anything happened between you and me that she was okay with it.”

Billy barks a laugh and then, “Shut up. Are you for real right now? She wasn’t fucking with you, was she?”

Steve shakes his head. 

“No. I needed to be sure. I needed her to know the truth, because it felt… wrong, you know? To love her and having feelings for you, too. Felt like I was betraying her.”

Billy doesn’t know, wouldn’t know anything about that. Jealousy and cheating aren’t things to him. Now envy? Yea. He knows envy well. Had felt envy against Nancy up until this exact conversation. 

Steve  _ likes _ him. 

But Billy fakes it to make it and nods like he understands. 

“So… She’s okay with this.” Billy nods between them. “So… what now?”

The brief smile Steve flashes somewhere near Billy’s chest is all nervous and unsure again. Billy wants to arch up on his toes to kiss Steve, but Steve beats him to it. Billy tips his chin up on instinct and hums when they meet in the middle. 

They part with a wet sound, but Steve doesn’t sit back again. He’s in Billy’s space with his eyes shy when he asks, “What about you?”

“… What about me?”

“How do you feel about… this.” Steve’s fingers tighten in Billy’s shirt. “I don’t want you to do all this because you think you have to. Or-or out of some duty to a hick like me peeking out of the closet. It’s, like, fine if you don’t feel the same, that’s crazy, this is crazy, but I—”

Billy eats up Steve’s foolish words with a firmer kiss than last time. Crashing a little like when they were messy and frantic. It’s only a quick, one-two press of their mouths before Billy stops, but it gets his point across. Steve is still pretty and pink. 

“It’s not bullshit,” Billy says desperately, needs Steve to believe him. “It’s not, Steve. I’m, hah…” He flings his head back and has to scrub a hand through his curls, pulling on them to give his eyes a real reason for stinging. “I like you, too, baby. I’m fucking crazy about you. Maybe since the first time I saw you.”

“Even though I was being a dumbass?”

“Yea,” Billy says with his rough voice, broken a little as he hugs Steve to him. “Yea, even then. And more and more all the time.”

He shouldn’t say that. That has implications. Desires that the summer cannot contain. It’s always looming over Billy that he and Steve are ships passing in the night. It’s a long, wonderful night, but a night. Steve will go home to Indiana. To Nancy. And Billy will be here. 

Everyone leaves. 

That sobers Billy right up even as Steve’s twinkling laugh echoes off the bathroom walls. Billy shoves a smirk on his face to hide how he wants to scream. He’s such an idiot. A hopeless idiot for this boy. 

“Well, think we should split?” Billy asks, distracting himself from his pain. He makes a face down at their crotches. “This is so uncomfortable.”

“I wouldn’t refuse a shower and clean clothes,” Steve admits. His legs and arms squeeze around Billy one last time. “Am I coming back to Frankie’s with you?”

Billy couldn’t say anything but yes, even if his life depended on it. 

“Absolutely.”

He’s a fool when he leans in for a kiss and Steve gives it to him. Something he wants so badly, cherishes now, but knows it’ll never last. A clown on parade.


	14. Lover Boy Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Billy spend the day at the beach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So close to that penultimate moment! They're so happy, just young boys in love. Heh.

It’s Tuesday. Billy cannot slow the progress of time. No matter what he does, no matter how much he wants the summer to stop. It won’t. And he can’t keep himself away from Steve no matter how much he knows the indulgence will destroy him when Steve leaves. He wishes he were like Steve, free and happy splashing on the beach. Max is running around somewhere. He’d offered to bring her along instead of her being stuck at the house. He’s being nice. Max’s suspicious squint in his rear view mirror dissolved the moment they pulled up, Steve running towards them. 

Billy knows he’s transparent. 

It’s not all bad, he supposes. It’s easier to touch Steve, now. He does it without thinking about it. Doesn’t have to hesitate anymore. Billy had meant what he said that first morning, waking up cuddled with Steve. He doesn’t mind—wants that and more so badly. Steve is just as tactile as him, maybe more. It’s a head rush whenever they’re alone, how his hands linger on Steve. And Steve touches him right back. 

Wrestling in the shallows is on the menu today. Billy can’t get enough. He’s ready for a struggle and play-fight when he first splashes Steve. Steve snorts, shakes his head, and then shoves water back at him. Hunkering down until the ocean laps at his chin, Billy waits for another shell in the sand to catch Steve’s attention. When Steve squats in his purple trunks, Billy pounces. 

“Shit!”

Billy’s arms slip around Steve’s waist like they’re a part of the ocean. Steve kicks out, flounders against Billy’s strength. 

“Fuck!”

“Haha,” Billy sings in his face, wet hair in Steve’s eyes. “Got you.”

It’s silly and childish, but he’s too giddy to care. Because Steve grins huge and wide right back at him and launches himself at Billy. Billy slips out of Steve’s hands no matter how he grapples with golden flesh. And Billy is stronger than him, almost picks Steve’s waterlogged ass right up out of the waves. He throws Steve down again and stands there like an asshole, hands on his hips and triumphant laugh echoing down the beach.

Steve flicks him off while scooping water out of his eyes. There’s sand in his trunks now. 

“Jerk.”

Steve is in Billy’s shadow when he bends down, offers a hand to help Steve up. 

“You love it,” Billy teases with a wink. 

Steve sticks his tongue out at Billy and considers for a second not taking his hand. He even turns his nose up at it, reminding himself of Nancy. But Billy is laughing in the sun and thrusting his hand at Steve. So. Steve grabs him by the wrist and drags Billy right off his feet. 

When Billy’s head shakes free of the waves, Steve is right there, grinning. 

“Haha,” he mocks. “Got you.”

There’s no one playing in the water on this stretch of beach. It’s pretty low traffic for a summer day. The clouds building offshore, the wind picking up, may have something to do with it. Billy won’t leave until the ocean starts churning, waves lapping above his ankles at shore. He’s not afraid of the ocean. But he’ll gladly use that fear to his advantage. 

Tossing wet hair out of his face, Billy looks around. Good. No one else around. No one paying attention to them. He stands and takes Steve by the hand despite Steve laughing and smacking at him—thinking they’re still play fighting. Billy is still playing, just a different game. A better one. He tugs Steve into deeper water until it’s up to their chests. Alone and free in the sea, Billy bobs around in place and tugs Steve to him. 

“Wrap your legs around me.”

Steve has a little sunburn going. It brightens at Billy’s demand. 

“What?”

Billy grins and lifts his own leg to hook his foot around Steve’s shin, dragging him forward. 

“Come on. No one can see us out this far. You don’t wanna?”

Steve glances around, betraying his uncertainty. That still happens. Billy chalks it up to Steve wanting to protect them from unwanted attention. Billy appreciates Steve's discretion. What they’re doing can get them killed, which is the only consequence Billy yields to. And only for Steve’s sake. He’d like to see some gay bashers try to fuck with him. 

“Come on,” Billy goads. 

“But why?”

Bill sends his eyes rolling, keeps pawing at Steve, and murmurs above the water, “Cuz I wanna hold you.”

Billy wonders if his blatant, unashamed honesty ever flusters Steve. Makes him uncertain. He doesn’t act like it, face lighting up every time Billy coaxes him close enough for hands, even more so for anything else. Not that they’ve gotten that far. They’d slept Sunday away after Marco’s party. Dad didn’t let him leave the house Monday over bullshit with Max. That Billy doesn’t spend enough time with the ‘family.’ At least Dad was in a mostly good mood just by taking Billy’s keys away. Billy returned to Steve today without bruises to lie about. He doesn’t like lying to Steve. 

Steve bites back a smile and asks, last-ditch attempt to make sure, “Won’t we sink if I do that?”

Billy snorts. They bob together when a bigger wave washes past them. They have maybe half an hour before the waves are too big, too choppy. 

“What, don’t trust me, lover boy?”

Steve throws his head back, mumbling, “Oh my god,” and then levels an amused grin at Billy. 

“‘Lover boy’? Where is that even coming from?”

Billy hums and gets Steve by the hips again. He pulls Steve drifting through the water. It churns between them to get out of the way, and Steve laughs when their bodies finally brush. 

“Some shit Max was listening to in her room. A Queen song, I think. Made me think of your dorky face.”

Steve nods and hums, holds on to Billy by his shoulders. 

“Queen is good. Do you remember what the song was?”

“I don’t know, something something good old fashioned lover boy.” Billy hops on his toes, kicking up sand in the blue water as he nudges them closer to shore. The waves are a little too aggressive. “It was an okay song if you like that sort of shit. I guess.”

Eyebrow cocked, Steve hooks one leg around Billy’s hips. It’s half of what Billy wants, and Billy perking up a little is what Steve wants. 

“I don’t know it. Sing it?”

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Billy grumbles. 

“You said you used to sing with your mom. Come on,” Steve whines, uses his leg to press their bodies together for a moment. “Sing! I wanna hear you.”

It’s Billy’s turn to tip his head back to curse at the heavens. 

“Fine! Whatever!” He shouts to the sky but just as quickly angles his grimace in Steve’s face. “Don’t watch me, though. I’ll fuck up.”

Billy is cute when he pouts. Steve doubts Billy even knows he’s doing it. Steve darts forward to kiss him and then hikes up his other leg. Billy stumbles in the circle of Steve’s legs, but he catches them. Steve jumps against Billy’s chest when strong hands grab him by the backs of his thighs. No one has ever touched him there. It’s… nice. Nice enough for Steve to hold Billy under his arms and hide in Billy’s neck. 

Steve floats in Billy’s arms, around Billy’s hips. They’re close and perfect like this. Steve bites another smile when Billy’s stomach heaves against him. Billy clearing his throat, taking deep breaths. Steve turns his head to rest his cheek on Billy’s shoulders. Like this, he splays his hands over Billy’s back and feels all that power under honey skin. Billy is the one keeping them from bobbing away. Steve sighs and closes his eyes to the ocean stretching past the horizon.

He breathes with Billy on the next inhale. 

Softly and out of tune over Steve’s shoulder, “I can dim the lights and sing you songs full of sad things. We can do the tango just for two…”

Steve snorts on the rest and nuzzles Billy’s shoulder. 

“I can serenade and gently play on your heart strings, be a Valentino just for you.”

Oh, Steve knows this song. It’s not until Billy is singing, “Ohh love, ohhh lover boy,” that Steve remembers the words, hums along. He smiles wider when Billy sways them a little, getting into the song probably just to make him laugh. Getting goofy with it. 

“When I'm not with you,” Billy croons dramatically, “I think of you always—miss those long hot summer nights.” He sways Steve in wider notions, sloshing the water around them. 

Billy howls louder and tips them, threatens to spill them in the water with, “When I'm not with you, think of me always. Love you... Love you!”

Steve barks a laugh when Billy smacks his bottom with a thigh, bouncing him up in the water. He holds on tighter and laughs in Billy’s ears. 

“Hey boy! Where do you get it from? Hey boy! Where did you go? I learned my passion in the good old fashioned school of loverboys!”

Steve rubs his cheek in Billy’s hair, a little stiff from the salt, and sings the rest with him. Billy only stumbles at first but picks it back up to match Steve’s enthusiasm. Billy swings them around harder than before at the end, arches his chest out of the water, and then falls backwards. Steve yelps as he falls on top of Billy. They both go under in a tangle of limbs and hair. 

They kick the sandy bottom and pop back up with twin gasps. They’ve drifted closer to shore thanks to the waves buffeting them. Both boys scoop water out of their eyes and hair out of their faces. When they spot each other, blue and brown, they break into laughter hard enough to make them wheeze. Their hair is still a mess even as they reach for each other. Steve doesn’t resist in the slightest when huge arms snatch him by the waist and haul them back together. 

“So charming,” Steve laughs, cheek smashed under Billy’s kiss. Steve’s arms are already back around Billy’s neck. “You wanna dunk me one more time or… ?”

“Couldn’t help it,” Billy rasps. He may or may not have coughed up salt water. “You’re fun to fuck with.”

“Does that… also imply I’m? Fun to fuck?”

Billy tucks his forehead to Steve’s cheek and laughs in the space under his jaw. Just a few, quiet chuckles. He hums and shifts down when he catches his breath, drags his lips over wet skin. Steve startles in his arms, almost cooing, and holds tighter to Billy’s neck. 

“Billy…”

Billy just does it again, doesn’t mind the ocean on Steve’s skin when he sucks at the end of each kiss. It’s something he’d discovered about Steve on accident. That Steve’s neck is especially deserving of attention and Steve makes delicious noises during said attention. That Steve will bare his neck like an intricate ritual and let Billy wrap his hands around Steve’s throat, bite him, anything. Billy allows himself a shiver as he remembers all of Sunday with great wanting. 

Sunday had been a day of exploration. A day of Steve being shy and soft in bed. Softness except for that one moment, frantic first thing waking up. Steve asking him to do it, pressing Billy’s hands to neck. It was a wild thing to go from warm slumber to climbing between Steve’s legs, rut through their underwear, and then have Steve do that. Billy’s hands still remember the stretch of sinew and skin under them. And after, when Steve had removed the last barrier between them without shyness and just let Billy look at him… Billy thinks he liked that the best. That or Steve’s adorable concern over seeing a cut dick up close the first time and asking if the circumcision hurt. Like Billy remembers it. 

“Billy?”

Billy startles with Steve tight in his arms, breaths puffing on his neck. Billy licks his lips, mouths one last kiss to Steve’s throat, and then lifts his head to meet Steve’s eyes. 

“Sorry lover boy, my imagination took that idea and ran with it. Showed me a good time.”

His charm definitely still works on Steve even after their mutual confessions. It hasn’t gone away, this strange effect Billy has on him. Steve’s forehead and cheeks tingle from the sun, and his blush just makes that burn hotter. Steve doubts there will ever be a moment where Billy doesn’t make him giddy, roll his eyes, or blush. Sometimes all at once. 

“You’re so lame, man,” Steve laughs it off. 

“What can I say? You know that saying ‘get your mind out of the gutter?’ I  **am** the gutter, baby.”

Steve sputters a laugh and then kicks himself away. They break apart with a cheeky grin on Billy’s face and laughter full on Steve’s. Even though Steve swims awkwardly away, he doesn’t intend to get far. Just enough to get Billy to dive under, spear through the water like he’s one with it, and pop up right in front of Steve like it’s nothing. 

Without a lick of sarcasm, Steve says with a smile, “You’re incredible, Billy Hargrove.” 

Shared smiles. In the distance where the sky is dark, lightning flashes. When the rumble of thunder finally reaches them, it’s a gasp more than a shout. Still. It’s coming this way. 

Steve is the one who flinches at the distant blip of lightning and turns to stare that way. Billy is all eyes on Steve. 

“That looks like it’s gonna be pretty bad when it finally gets here… Should we? Leave?”

“We can.” Billy winks when Steve returns concerned eyes his way. “Just let me ditch the squirt and I’ll take us to Frankie’s.”

“Are you sure? Frankie’s is like across town, the hotel is right there…”

“I don’t want any interruptions,” Billy says almost as a question, an eyebrow flicking up. 

“Interruptions?”

Both eyebrows climb high as Billy stares, pointed and full of purpose, his face overflowing with intentions. When Steve makes a face, lips pursed, Billy lets the expression melt into a playful one. They’re already so close in the water. Under the moving surface, Billy’s hands find Steve’s hips. Fingertips pry their way under Steve’s trunks, forcing them down a little so Billy can rub his thumbs into the hollows of Steve’s hips. That gets the sunburn on Steve’s face glowing again. 

“Interruptions,” Billy repeats again, voice barely above a growl. “Get me?”

Steve licks his lips and gives a little nod, giddy already. Monday had been such a fucking drag without Billy. Billy called him at the hotel in a short, pissy mood. Talking about his dad and how Billy was functionally grounded. Steve thinks Billy was angrier at the idea of being grounded at 17, but Billy was beyond rational, peaceful conversation at that point. Steve just wedged the phone between his shoulder and ear, splayed out on the bed, and listened to him bitch. It even got a few laughs out of Steve, much to Billy’s frustration. 

And now they have a day to make up. A day of innuendos and intense stares, of Billy’s hands completely incapable of keeping to themselves. A day of stolen touches and risky kisses that Steve can’t say no to. Especially when Billy wants to just hold him, like they should be able to in public. Steve’s hips will eventually memorize the pressure and strength of those hands if Billy keeps this up. That and Steve feels like his neck is on fire from Billy’s attention. That might be the sunburn baking him, though. 

Billy’s fingers under Steve’s waistband scoot the material even farther down, only the curve of Steve’s ass stopping them from sliding off. 

“You have no idea,” Billy murmurs from the bottom of his throat, “how bad I just wanna pull your trunks down. Wanted to do it all day.”

And Billy would. Steve knows with a flush hot like burning behind his eyes that Billy would just dive under, steal his trunks, and then fuck with him. Either tease him or actually fuck with him. They know so little of each other’s bodies, but Steve’s knows sex well enough. Thinks he does. And he wants that with Billy. Unafraid. Unashamed. 

Steve huffs and says with attitude, “Why don’t you do it, then? Unless you’re all talk.”

Billy pinches the knob of his hipbone for that, grins through Steve’s flinch and yelp. 

“Later. Soon,” he promises with a lick to his teeth. “I can’t wait to get a piece of you, baby. Been waiting all my life.”

Steve doesn’t have a hot retort for that. Their back and forth is possibly the easiest thing between them. Sometimes Steve just can’t work up a response fast enough before the moment passes and Billy is on to the next. He’s too smart and quick for his own good. Steve doesn’t understand how minds like that work. He just likes the result. 

“Don’t-dont make promises you can’t keep,” he stutters and then slips out of Billy’s hands, the last word Steve’s in name only. Billy’s filthy grin speaks volumes. 

A bigger wave helps push him to shore. He doesn’t even see Billy power through the wave like he’s riding it. Steve wishes he could see Billy surf. It looks impossible. And he knows Billy used to surf at one point. It’s a sore topic, one that shuts Billy down and makes him mean, soft edges turning to glass. Steve wants to talk about it. It’s so easy for him to explain his past, his trauma to Billy. Easier than talking to anyone else about it. He wants to be that for Billy. But maybe it’s not meant to be. 

So Steve avoids those landmines with Billy. Gives the topics of mothers, surfing, and a few other things wide berths. Don’t rock the boat, right? Why ruin the vibe when he could just smile and laugh, trade banter with Billy and have a good time? If Billy wants to confide, he will. Steve is sure, slapping sand off his hairy legs, that he could never convince Billy to do anything he didn’t want. He could lead Billy to water, but Billy would rather drown himself than drink it. 

Steve doesn’t dwell on that. Can’t when Billy rises out of the water like a fucking model, combing hair off his forehead and strutting up the beach. Eyes all on Steve, up and down, all around. 

“Oh my god,” Steve groans like he’s put out about it. “Can you not?”

Billy takes the towel Steve offers him and asks, like he’s innocent of all wrong, “What’s wrong, baby? What’s got your trunks in a twist now?”

“Oh, nothing. You’re just unbelievable is all. I can’t believe you’re a real person sometimes.”

“You better believe it.” A wink. “I’m the real deal, can you dig it?”

Steve huffs a laugh and shakes his head. It’s so cheesy, so terrible. And yet every quip, every smart remark from Billy never fails to get a rise out of Steve. And the longer it goes on, them riding the easy waves of this affection and… charged, unfulfilled sexual tension, Steve guesses, the more he realizes he’s got it bad. So, so bad for Billy Hargrove. 

He repeats himself from earlier and says fondly, “You’re incredible, Billy Hargrove.”

The wind coming off the ocean bowls over them. Farther down the beach, people scramble to snatch their towels and anything else light from the wind. Steve stays with their little circle of clothes, shoes, everything while Billy searches for Max. Even Steve has picked up on Billy being nicer to her. Which in turn earns Billy appreciative smiles from Steve for the effort. Maybe that’s the reason for Billy’s change in tune. If only Steve could help cool Billy’s head about his dad. It’s another landmine, though. It’s best to avoid it. 

When Billy returns with Max scowling and squinting to keep sand out of her eyes, they finally start to leave. Billy tries to make a show of carrying everything, but Steve laughs over the wind and doesn’t let him. Fat rain drops pelt the sand and them just as they reach the Camaro. Steve spends a second trying to steal his towel back from Billy to save the seat, but Billy shoves him into the car and closes the door. As Steve watches Billy march around the hood, he gets the sneaking suspicion the threat of the storm has nothing, absolutely nothing to do with Billy’s haste. Billy not even throwing his wife beater back on assures Steve even more. 

Billy takes it easy on the city streets. It hasn’t rained in quite some time, and the pavement is liable to be slick as the rain washes oil and grime away. Plus, the last thing he wants is his eagerness and hunger getting the best of him and causing an accident. He’d just have to wait longer to get his hands back on Steve, back in the sanctity of Frankie’s apartment. He’s been going crazy thinking about it, thinking about the next step and finally getting under Steve’s skin. It’s time to take the pretty boy apart and figure out what makes him tick. What makes him jump and moan. What makes him quiver. 

He can’t get Max out of the car fast enough. The fact that Billy has to get out to let her climb out makes him seriously reconsider the coup body style of the Camaro. Pain in the ass. But whatever, it’s fine, and as soon as she’s out, already bitching about how dad will be mad at him for leaving the house like this weekend, the roar of the engine drowns her out. Consequences are the last things on Billy’s mind. He has to drive, can’t even really tease or wind Steve up. Steve for his part covers the little laugh at Billy’s expense with a hand, keeps his cheerful eyes to the road in front of them. 

“Jesus, I hate being a fucking taxi, man. All the mess, all the disrespect, no money. Don’t get siblings, Steve, I can attest it’s the fucking worst.”

“Come on, she’s not that bad,” Steve defends, knowing full well how annoying Mike is. “She could be worse. Think of it that way.”

Billy sags into the driver’s seat with both hands tight on the wheel. 

“I’d probably blow my brains out if that were the case.”

Steve says with a laugh, “Don’t do that, man. Blow me instead.”

He means it as a joke… sort of. But the moment the words are out of his mouth, he knows Billy won’t see them that way. He’ll take them as an invitation. A nasty grin already stretches his lips. 

“That’s the idea, baby. That and hopefully a lot more.”

When Steve is quiet, wrapped up in his thoughts and biting himself from excitement, Billy mistakes it as nerves. He shuffles behind the wheel and throws worried glances Steve’s way. 

“Come on, Steve, you know I meant that like—”

Steve doesn’t let Billy continue that thought. 

“No no, sorry, I wasn’t like uncomfortable or anything.” He fights the heat in his cheeks and says lower, “I was thinking about it.”

A breath. 

“Oh yea?” Carefully, like Billy isn’t sure Steve ‘thinking’ about it means good thinking or nervous thinking. “What were you thinking about?”

Billy doesn’t mean that in a sexy way, although Steve bets Billy wouldn’t mind him saying nasty shit right back to him. It fits Billy, somehow, that he wields provocative language as well as any poet or wordsmith. Again, Steve is pretty sure Billy is actually smart as hell. Not Nancy-smart, but right up there with her.

How would he even begin to tell Billy all the images in his head? How long he’s thought about Billy and wants to experience their bodies in new ways Steve still doesn’t know? It helps that Billy certainly knows what to do with them. Steve’s ideas are centered around softer bodies… different… anatomy. He can just hear Billy tease him, ‘A hole is a hole,’ and it’s so vivid, Billy’s grinning voice so clear…

“Just… touching you. And stuff.”

Tension slips right out of Billy, and his easy smirk returns. 

“‘And stuff,’” Billy parrots. “What kind of stuff?”

Yep, he’s done it, now. Billy is hot on the trail of Steve’s thoughts, and there’s nothing Steve can do about that dog and his bone. 

Yet still he tries, desperately and with his face hotter rambles off, “You know, just, stuff! I’ve never done anything with another guy before, so it’s gotta be a little different, and-and I’m curious, is all.”

Steve huffs at Billy humming and nodding, thoroughly enjoying the way Steve squirms. 

“I was thinking more… specific details. You might provide.”

Steve finally groans to the roof of the car. 

“You just want me to say a bunch of gross stuff so you can give me shit about it.”

Making no attempt at hiding his grin, Billy drawls, “I would never.”

“You are so full of shit,” Steve laughs. Is Billy letting him off the hook? Could he be so lucky to avoid that sort of embarrassment? “Besides, I’d… rather hear you say that kind of stuff.”

Steve’s abrupt turn to tenderness, his voice soft, throws Billy for a loop. Steve can’t mean Sunday. Billy is pretty sure Steve had nearly passed out from embarrassment from all the things that came out of his mouth. He just can’t help it. Billy needs Steve to know how badly he wants him. Billy will use any and all methods to get that point across. Steve’s reactions to his voice are just so precious, so hopelessly adorable. And sexy in a shameful kind of way.

“You’d rather hear me, huh? How come?”

Steve gives a useless sort of shrug. 

“I don’t know, I just-I just think back to us at the party Saturday night and how nervous I was and how I couldn’t stop noticing people looking at us. And you talked to me, and it helped, I guess. It made me think about you and not everyone else.”

That’s… not anywhere near what Billy had thought Steve would say. He didn’t even consider the sweet nothings he said all hushed and quiet, trying to get Steve to relax. To get out of his own head. But Steve remembers. It meant more to Steve than Billy could know. To comfort him and tell him it was okay instead of hounding him to just relax, stop being a bitch about it. 

Bravado turned way low now, Billy steals a glance at Steve’s hands in his lap. They cup over each other to stop Steve from pulling on his hair or some other fidget. They still have about five more minutes to Frankie’s. Five minutes is too long for how tight Billy’s chest is, how much he needs to do something. Say something, touch Steve, make him laugh. Something. Billy leans towards the center console and forces his hand between Steve’s. He steals one, Steve’s left, and pulls it up to his face. 

Billy doesn’t have the time to look at Steve while kissing his knuckles. To look at Steve would just make him blush and think it’s another of Billy’s games to get a reaction out of him. He means this so genuinely, more than his filthy words can express. Billy exhales with his mouth still pressed to Steve’s knuckles, hand turned at the wrist to make it work. Steve’s fingers twitch where they’re caught in Billy’s grip before slowly closing on him, holding him back. 

“Billy?”

Billy just kisses Steve’s knuckles once more and then lowers their hands to his thigh. Steve can take his hand back if he wants to. Not that Billy wants him to. Billy wants to hold him, and take care of him, and never let him go. He hurts himself with those wants, but he cannot deny they exist. Billy sighs a little and relaxes his grip around Steve’s hand. It’s the slack Steve needs to escape, if he wants. 

But Steve’s head is in the clouds as his insides do the ridiculous, fluttering thing they do when he’s with Nancy. It’s like he has to confront his feelings for Billy all over again. Steve would call himself stupid, but he’s trying not to do that anymore. It’s not an easy habit to break, instinctual like breathing to think he’s just some stupid douchebag. Billy doesn’t see him that way, sees past all the bullshit. And then also doesn’t let Steve stay in his bullshit. Calls him out on it. 

So instead of letting go, Steve squeezes Billy’s hand until a knuckle pops in those thick fingers. Billy huffs out a single laugh next to him. Warm. Amusement simple. Steve struggles to not fill the silence with meaningless words or nervous rambling. He doesn’t want Billy to misconstrue that nervous energy for reluctance. For a lack of trust. Whatever they do together, Steve knows Billy won’t hurt him. That thought had possessed him Sunday morning, had him pulling Billy on top of him and asking without words for Billy to hold him by the neck while they rubbed on each other. 

Steve swallows hard and remembers that pressure. Not enough to choke him. Hell, not enough to even restrict his breathing. Just enough for Billy to pin him down and for his pulse to flutter in Billy’s palms like a tiny bird. He’ll gladly do that again, try practically anything with Billy. He wants to tell Billy as much, but he’ll wait until they’re upstairs. The spot where Billy parks on the street has a few drops of oil from his car. Bill needs only to throw the Camaro in park, walk them upstairs, and then lock the door behind them. That’s all. 

Perhaps it’s Steve’s excitement that makes Frankie’s apartment feel new all over again. Each antique he’s already marveled at pops out. All the carpet under their feet is more plush, every smell stronger and less vague. Steve makes room for Billy after kicking his sandals off. Seeing Billy show up to the beach in tennis shoes had tickled him. Until today, Steve didn’t even know Billy owned tennis shoes. But of course he does, he goes to school, has gym. Like a teacher would let Billy run a mile in those boots of his. Even now Steve smiles through a snort. The sound brings Billy’s head up from where he bends over, toe of one shoe stepping on the heel of the other so he can take them off. 

“What?”

Steve just shrugs. 

“I guess I’m just excited. Kinda feels like my first time all over again.”

Billy stands back to his full height, shoes kicked away. 

“Was it good? The first time?”

Steve scoffs. 

“Pft, I mean no, not really, we had no idea what we were doing. I was just excited to be with a girl and finally not be a virgin anymore.”

Billy flicks up an eyebrow, smirk slowly creeping on his face. 

“Hopefully you’re better now, otherwise…”

“Shut up,” Steve laughs as he turns towards Billy without thinking about it. Billy stalks closer, and Steve crosses his arms over his chest. “Nancy has a good time.”

Blue eyes rolling, Billy grabs Steve by the hips and drags them close until their bodies bump. Steve stumbles a little, but Billy’s strength is right there, slung across the small of his back to keep him upright. They’re gritty with sand and salt, but Billy slides their lips together for a kiss anyway. He hadn’t cared about salt water on Steve’s neck, doesn’t care about the slight taste of it on Steve’s lips now. He’s more interested in feeling how plush they are, how they fit with his. Billy doesn’t mean for them to get things started so quickly, so after a hum and a teasing swipe at the space opening between Steve’s lips, he pulls back. 

“Go take a shower,” he says, their faces still close and Steve licking his lips like he can taste Billy on them. “Frankie has two bathrooms, so don’t worry about taking a long time.”

Steve nods and then frowns. 

“Why would I take a long time?”

Billy reaches for the top curve of Steve’s ass and gives him a pinch. He grins like an animal when Steve jumps hard against him, rocking their bodies together without meaning to. 

“Cuz you’re gonna wanna wash your ass real good, lover boy. I’d offer to help but…”

Ah, and there’s what Billy wants. Steve sputtering a little and pink to his hairline. They’ll need to slap some aloe on Steve’s forehead, the nape of his neck. Billy can’t wait to feel the heat of the sun through Steve’s skin. Maybe Steve will let Billy rub the aloe on him. It shouldn’t be a sexy thought, but Billy pops his hips to rub on Steve, too excited for his own good. 

“That’s, uh, wow I uh…” Steve’s voice goes tight and a little high. “Just gonna immediately jump into butt stuff, huh?”

Billy’s stomach goes rolling with his laughter. He hugs Steve tightly to him, chin hooked over Steve’s shoulder and nose in his hair. He smells like the ocean. In Billy’s heart, he rides the wave of blissful, stupid affection for this country boy and doesn’t want to let go. He does when Steve starts to shake with laughter. When they pull back, Steve only looks a little sheepish. 

“Jokes aside,” Billy says once they’ve caught their breaths. “Jokes aside, I promise I will never touch you unless you want me to. Where you want me to.” He thumbs the hollows of Steve’s hips. “You get me, Steve?”

“Yea, hah, I know. I…” Steve shakes himself in Billy’s arms and leans forward to rest their foreheads together. Outside, thunder shakes the sky. “I trust you, Billy.”

Billy tilts his head to mouth one more kiss to Steve’s lips and then murmurs deeply, “Go.”

It’s like Billy knows he’s gone all warm inside, knows about the tight coil behind Steve’s navel and how his voice winds it tighter and tighter. Steve lingers long enough to shiver, to let Billy watch him shiver. How Billy is the one who does this to him. A subtle lift of Billy’s chin sends Steve off like something chases him. It’s not scary, this time. He wants to be chased. 

That’s a rush of a thought. He thinks he shouldn’t want that. Steve had been chased for his actual life a little more than six months ago. So why does the prospect of Billy pursuing him just… Steve closes the bathroom and leans on it, cups a hand over his mouth like he needs to keep quiet. As his heart races like he’s run a mile, he pokes and picks at that desire to try and make sense of it. Billy unleashes so much in him. Makes him question everything he thought he knew about himself. This time a year ago, if someone told him he’d be absolutely gaga for another boy…

Steve’s reaction would have been less than graceful. Less than appropriate. He sucks down a calm breath and leans his head back against the door. The allure of Billy chasing him holds no actual danger. Only the thrill of laughter and knowing Billy would catch him. Would drag him down to the ground and consume him whole. And… Steve is okay with that. He’s thrown all of himself into loving Nancy. He wants that with Billy, wants everything…

Big, brown eyes blink up at the bathroom ceiling. 

What is he saying? This is crazy! He’s about to go home in a few days… He’s… about to not see Billy for a long time. Maybe forever. Steve’s eyes pinch shut, and his whole face crumbles a little. He’s just been trying not to think about it. Just enjoyed the thrill and ease that comes with being near Billy. Why does he have to be doing this now? About to have a breakdown in the damn bathroom moments before they’re supposed to enjoy each other? Steve could just punch something, but he doesn’t have it in him. It’s not his nature. 

The hot water hesitates to fight through the cold. Steve only has his swim trunks to shuck and so has to stand there naked and wait. It hurts a little to breathe, and he thinks if he looks in the mirror that he’ll start crying. And doesn’t that just twist him up even more. Steve smacks both hands over his face just to have something there pressing on his burning eyes, his temples. His face stings from the sunburn, and he lets out a pathetic whine. Hopefully Billy has some aloe. Steve needs it. 

He doesn’t tune into just how red the back of his neck is until he steps into the shower. The hot water hits it like needles and nails, and Steve springs to the other side of the tub, away from the shower head. He hisses through hooking an arm up and back to touch shaking fingers to the burn. Even his fingers touching it hurts. At least it’s distracting. He cannot turn his brain off to the pain. The physical pain is better than the pain in his heart. 

None of the bottles on offer look familiar. Steve shoves hair and water out of his eyes to squint at them. He picks the blue shampoo at first, but just as quickly puts it back when it smells like sweet vomit. Someone likes that smell, he knows with a grimace on his face. A bottle of milky white shampoo is next up for inspection. It smells like what a coconut would if someone had never actually smelled one before—was only described the smell. Steve shrugs and settles on that one. A sad smile tugs his lips while he scrubs, thinking maybe these are Billy’s. Maybe Billy usually uses this bathroom. Although never mind the first, awful shampoo. There’s no way Billy uses that one.

That draws a little chuckle out of him. And another. Another until he has his hands over his face again. He won’t cry, he won’t. He just needs a second, and the water is warm, and it’s peaceful in here. He just needs a second. He’s fine. 

Swallowing hard but choking all the same, Steve lets his hands slide away. Water rains down on his face once more. It’s almost cold on his sunburn. Steve licks water off his lips and then leaves them parted to exhale nice and slow. If he doesn’t take even breaths, his knees will buckle. He’ll flop right down to the bottom of the tub like a fish. Curling up on the floor is too cliche for him. A humorless bubble of laughter rises in him once more. Steve sighs and hums until the hopelessness dries up. Showering can be a numb affair now. 

Steve is clean again from head to toe, leaning on the slippery wall and about to get out. Billy’s teasing voice rings in his head. That he should ‘wash his ass real good.’ For the first time in twenty minutes, something other than hopelessness stirs in Steve. He even manages a smile and to open his eyes without them stinging, overflowing. Despite the sadness clawing at him, despite how Saturday morning rushes faster and faster… Billy still draws a real smile to his face. Steve even laughs at himself, sappy fool, and shoves himself off the wall. 

It’s silly to blush while sliding a hand between his cheeks. Again. With intent. Swallowing hard for a different reason this time, Steve braces his right arm above his head and against the wall. For some reason, that arm doesn’t want to bend behind him like he needs it to. He’s right handed, had thought for sure his right arm would be more flexible than his left. Not so. So, the fingers and palm of his left hand are soapy between his cheeks. It takes a lot of lip biting and embarrassed huffing to get him to do this. 

“Fuck it, fuck it,” he whispers to the water. “Like, it’s no big deal, it’s just… fingers up your ass. Who cares. Who hasn’t accidentally-on-purpose done this out of curiosity? Everyone, so come on, just do it, it’s not a big deal…”

Steve has to wrench his left shoulder back to reach. He startles at the first, slippery rub. 

“Ahhh, this is fucking weird,” he hisses. 

His middle finger reaches best. He swallows the nerves in his throat, stuck like a frog, and breathes out slow. Widens his stance a little. Just. Relax. The plastic wall of the tub is cool on his face, soothing to his sunburn. A strangled noise, confused and impatient, squeezes out of Steve. It’ll hurt if he just dives right in. He hates to think of it this way, flushes until he has to breathe open-mouthed against the wall. If a girl were tight, he wouldn’t just push into her like a fucking animal. He’d hurt her. So…

Steve turns his face to hide it from no one as he draws careful circles around and around his entrance. Above him, his right arm slides down until it rests on his head. It gives him a little, private pocket of space to hide in. He’ll hear his quickening breaths and little noises less like this. With his ears blocked, he pretends it’s someone else biting their lip through hums and whines. 

He never would have considered this part of him soft. But that’s a silly thought, because why would this be anything other than soft? He snorts to himself and cants his hips back a little more. Like he’s on display. Like someone is watching him, waiting to pounce. It reminds Steve of the first time he’d jerked off thinking of Billy, practically humping his leather jacket. Steve slides the pads of two fingers to his hole and presses. 

“Oh,” pops softly from his mouth like someone has knocked the air out of him. 

He doesn’t know what to do with this. It’s easy enough to just stick a finger up his ass and call it done. That’s not what he wants, though. That’s not what Billy would do, wouldn’t go so fast. Steve knows with total trust and certainty, because they’ve gone slow up to this point. Billy would probably spend forever getting him comfortable. And all Steve has to do is tell Billy no, and it stops anyway. 

“Okay,” Steve sighs. “Okay, okay, Harrington, you can do it.”

His own voice doesn’t bring the same comfort as Billy. Billy would call him some ridiculous pet name anyway. Baby. Pretty boy. Lover boy. The new one from the song. It makes Steve smile more than the others, just because of the way it sounds like, ‘I love you.’ He hasn’t heard that from Nancy since Christmas… When she gave Jonathan the camera he begged her to let him replace. 

But he doesn’t want to think about that! Steve smashes his forehead to the wall again and rocks back on his fingers. He just wants to think about Billy, wants to imagine him here and heavy around him. Steve starts to pant again soon enough as he crooks his fingers. His body doesn’t really give so much as twitches around him. That thought should be so uncomfortable and gross, but he just imagines Billy’s deep hum and how much Billy would enjoy touching him in such a private place. Where no one else has. 

He’s no longer so shy that he stops himself from breathing, “Billy,” while touching himself. Steve’s right arm spasms where it grips the plastic wall. Steve whimpers—a pathetic sound Billy would love—and shifts his right hand down to bite at his fingers. Below, Steve goes back to rubbing circles into himself. Wider and narrower, firmer and then softer. Steve has a constant stream of little noises escaping past his lips, pretending Billy can hear them, and tries to slip his middle finger in. 

It burns a little. Doesn’t feel nearly as good as just playing with the nerves at his entrance. Steve bites his lower lip out of frustration, slips out of himself, and then tries again. If feels best right at the rim, right where he fights through the tightness. Steve cracks his eyes open only to see roving black spots and splashes of colors. That makes him dizzy, so he closes his eyes again. Steve’s next breath tumbles from his open mouth as he stands there and waits to get used to it. 

And waits. 

And waits. 

“Uhg, fuck,” he groans. “How is this supposed to feel good?”

Steve shakes his head against his arm and thrusts some more, trying to get into it. Maybe he needs Billy here to do it. He needs Billy’s voice and warmth, the heavy presence of all that controlled strength. Restrained. Steve remembers Billy picking him up like nothing, even waterlogged, and throwing him. That would be fun, if Billy threw him on the bed. Steve muffles a laugh and doesn’t feel too disappointed when he slips out, stops. He buzzes between his cheeks in a new way, rubs his thighs together a little to see if it goes away. It doesn’t, is a remnant of what he’d done. Steve hopes his sunburn still covers up the heat in his cheeks when he washes his hands and then climbs out. 

The other bathroom must be connected to Frankie’s room. An en suite. It’s the last room Steve checks, wandering around naked and looking for Billy. Light and sound spill from under a door in Frankie’s room. Not a closet, then. Steve glances with nervous teeth in his lower lip at the bed and considers sitting. Waiting. Maybe he should find… something to put on. Is this weird? Sitting on the bed and waiting for Billy like Steve is some prize? Like he hadn’t just whimpered Billy’s name with a finger up his ass?

Steve hangs his head and gives a pitiful whine. He’s never going to forget that. It’s not shameful like he thought it would be. Just embarrassing, confusing, uncomfortable… 

From the gap under the bathroom door, Billy sings a little. Very off key, but with all the enthusiasm of someone who’s good.

“Baby… when I think about you… I think about looove.”

Steve purses his lips over a smile, decision to sit made for him. Backs of his knees cupping the side of the mattress, Steve lies down and smiles up at the ceiling. Billy mimes the riffs of a guitar between lyrics, probably even steps around under the shower spray to play some air guitar. 

“I feel like makin’ love. Feel like makin’ love. Feel like makin’ love to you!”

Steve has to slap a hand over his mouth to catch a giggle. Giggling. He’s giggling now! Extra heat creeps into his sunburn as Billy goes through the whole song. Bad Company just feels much too soft for Billy. It’s a good band, not Steve’s taste, but good enough. Billy would be the type to sing and carry on while showering. It’s endearing and adorable, and Steve drops his hand from his mouth to hum along. He’s almost sunk into the bed, eyes heavy and dopey, when the door slams open. He doesn’t even jump, just turns his head to watch Billy emerge like a god from the steam. 


	15. Lover Boy Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Billy finally act on their mutual pining.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The summary of this chapter should be: the chapter where they finally fuck. Well, sort of. As much porn as I write, I do like to switch it up sometimes and write sex that has nothing to do with dicks penetrating people. Cuz that's just one way to have sex, obviously. But fandom spaces tend to skew heavily to penetrative sex. And although there is penetration in these next two chapters, there are no dicks involved in it. You'll see.

A towel drapes around Billy’s shoulders, but otherwise he matches Steve. Naked as the day they were born. It strikes Steve at that moment, between Billy lighting a cigarette with his eyes closed and then opening them, that he doesn’t know when Billy’s birthday is. He’d like to know. Even if he won’t be here for it, Steve wants to know. Surely Nancy can take him down to the post office and teach him how to mail something more complex than a letter…

Billy perks up the moment his eyes land on Steve through grey smoke. Billy casually nudges the lighter onto the shelf of a display cabinet, rests his fists on his hips, and then widens his stance. It’s not subtle, draws Steve’s warm eyes up and down like Billy wants. He smirks around the filter when Steve stares openly between his legs. He’s only half hard, and only because cleaning himself had turned into playing with himself after a few strokes. It occurs to Billy that he bets that happens to Steve a lot. He has to take extra care to keep that cute, uncut prick of his clean. It’s a thought only Billy would have, and he revels in the fact that only he thinks Steve’s dick is cute. 

The sunburn though…

Billy snaps his cigarette from his lips and whistles. 

“Didn’t know it was Christmas in July, Rudolph. The sun, she is not so kind to you.”

Steve flashes a bashful smile, still flat on his back and relaxed. Not that the sight of Billy doesn’t thrill him. He just can’t dwell on it too long or he’ll get nervous. 

“Yea, it hurt a little to shower. I think the back of my neck is fried…”

Billy sucks his teeth and shakes his head like Steve has done something naughty. 

“I think Frankie has some aloe around. He’s pale and pasty, burns just driving sometimes.” Eyebrows flick suggestively. “Want some help with that, lover boy?”

“Of course.”

Steve goes to sit up and disturbs the emptiness inside him. Where he’s still a little uncomfortable and tingly from exploring. A wince breaks across his face, and Billy snorts draws Steve’s head around. 

Smirk healthy on his lips now, Billy points out with a tease laced in his voice, “That's the look of someone who had a finger up his ass and didn’t like it.”

Steve’s sunburn flames hotter all over again. Billy barks a single laugh for his trouble and then returns to the steamy bathroom behind him. His voice floats through the humid air, “Don't worry about it, Steve. If you didn’t like it, you didn’t like it. There’s more than one way to skin a cat.”

“What?” Steve gasps, startled. “Who said anything about hurting cats?”

Billy re-emerges without the towel but with a plastic bottle in hand. Inside, the aloe gel is deep blue with air bubbles caught in it. Billy helps himself to the spot on the bed right next to Steve. It’s so casual, like they’re not naked and about to have sex. If that’s still on the table. 

“It’s a saying, baby. What I mean is there’s more than one way to have sex.” Billy jerks the aloe bottle hard a few times towards his left hand, trying to coax the gel out. “It’s not all dicks in butts, so don’t worry about it.”

A nervous laugh bubbles out of Steve as Billy scowls at the aloe bottle. 

“You, uh, make it sound so easy…”

“It is,” Billy grunts as finally a blob of goo separates inside the bottle and ends up at the cap, already dribbling out on his fingers. “I’ve slept with guys who had no interest in playing in the back door. Not everybody likes that or is comfortable with it.” Billy glances up from his hand and sets the bottle aside. His left cups a hefty amount of gel. “Steve. Will you look at me?”

Skittish doe eyes do glance up from where Steve had been rubbing his hands over and over each other. 

Attention fully his, Billy says softly, “I will never. Ever. Touch you without asking. Without making sure you want me to. Get me?”

Steve’s head nods like it’s attached to his neck on a string. He folds a leg up so he can turn towards Billy, nerves out and honest. 

“I’m sorry, you know I trust you, I don’t mean anything bad by it, I thought maybe I was doing something wrong, it just felt… weird.”

Billy nods and hops closer. 

“I get it. You’ve never done that to yourself before, right? Oh, turn around so I can start slathering you up. We’ll get your face last.”

Steve’s nod is more sure this time. Billy is all warmth behind him, hands gentle as he steadies Steve with one on his arm and the other smooths aloe on him. The first, slippery wipe across Steve’s neck has his skin tightening over every inch of him, rips a hiss straight from tight lips. 

“Shhh, I know it’s cold. It’ll feel good once it sinks into your skin.” He pauses and then blows a stream of air over the patch. When Steve flinches on the bed and crowds his shoulders up by his ears, Billy chuckles, “Don’t worry, I’m not a total bastard. I’m not gonna slap your sunburn or anything.”

Steve swallows hard and nods again. Billy keeps on wiping aloe on him, everywhere Steve’s skin radiates unnatural heat. Nerves cling to him like burrs despite the easy quiet that settles over them. Billy must pick up on it, because he shifts behind Steve and plants a kiss on a patch of normal skin. 

“Anybody ever tell you you think very loudly?”

“N-no? What is that supposed to mean?”

“You’re still hung up about something. Squirming all over the place. So what is it?”

Steve gives a hopeless shrug. 

“I don’t know, I guess I just… I’m annoyed with myself. About the whole…”

“The anal thing?”

Steve’s skin sizzles under Billy’s cooling touch. 

“Yea… I feel like if I’m going to like boys that I should? Like that too? You say there’s different ways, but.”

“Hey, hey,” Billy says softly, chin hooked over Steve’s shoulder despite the aloe. “You got it all wrong, baby. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. Doesn’t matter who the other person is. You’ve got it in your head that you fuck pussy, so you gotta fuck ass, too. It’s really not like that.”

Steve makes a face, turns from Billy’s gentle breaths ghosting over his jaw. 

“God, I hate that word so much.”

“What?” He bears Billy’s devilish grin in his drawl. “Pussy?”

It reminds him of Tommy and how he used to be. That douchebag, Steve Harrington. 

“You’re the worst,” Steve says with a laugh. 

“You know it.” Billy kisses his neck next and then backs off, touches up the edges of Steve’s burn. “Do you want me to try some things on you? Just because you didn’t like something in you doesn’t mean you don’t like someone touching your ass. The concepts don’t go hand in hand like you think. Turn around.”

Steve does as he’s told, spreads his legs with a nudge and hop from Billy to bring them closer. Steve is thankful in this moment for his years of casual nudity in locker room showers. He is unashamed of his body around Billy. Years of teasing over his moles and dick have helped him grow a skin thicker to shame, at least in this facet. Billy is just as brazen, let’s his gaze roam over Steve. Their eyes meet somewhere in the middle, and they lean as one the moment Billy’s eyes soften. It’s a simple kiss, not even a noise between them when they part. 

“Even sunburned you're fucking beautiful.”

“Shut up,” he laughs. 

Billy hums, “Make me,” and then begins on Steve’s forehead. “Hold your hair back for me?”

Their hands brush when Billy carefully guides aloe all the way up to Steve’s hairline. Steve thinks maybe his scalp is a little burned, too. That will make for gross, flaky hair. And he prides himself on not having dandruff. At least not the kind that needs a special, god-awful smelling shampoo. Steve makes a note to take extra care washing his hair for the next week or so. It hadn’t hurt just now, but sunburn has a way of intensifying a day later. 

Billy’s focus is on the task at hand, but it feels strange to be so close to Steve like this. With an actual purpose rather than teasing him or riling him up. The burn is pretty bad on his forehead, across the bridge of his nose. Billy squints in the dim light of the bedroom as he takes a pinky and does detail work on Steve’s face. He won’t get any aloe in Steve’s eyes, makes sure strokes there with his pinky pushing the aloe along. Like he’s putting make-up on Steve. A silly thought but one that unclenches Billy’s jaw and softens his resting bitch face. And when he relaxes, Steve relaxes, too. That alone makes it worth it. 

“You’ll wanna buy a little bottle of this from a drugstore or one of the beach shops on the boardwalk. They always sell sunscreen and aloe, all that shit tourists forget to bring.”

“Yea,” Steve sighs sheepishly. “I really didn’t think I needed it. I’m not, like, super pasty.”

“A rookie mistake,” Billy lectures. “Even Miguel and Tyrone get sunburn, and they’re darker than both of us.”

Steve gives an apologetic hum and tilts his head to help Billy with the coverage. Steve likes to think the tender kiss Billy gives him when they’re done is a reward. A shiver runs through him at the prospect, and he leans forward when Billy tries to end the kiss. A pause as they breathe, their lips barely separated, and Billy gives in to him. Billy’s left hand is tacky from the gel when he reaches up to hold Steve by his upper arms. To steady him. Maybe to push him back when their tongues finally slide together. They separate with Steve still kissing him, pout quickly taking over the fact his tongue had been out. 

“Billy…”

Expression molten, Billy murmurs back, “Yea baby? What is it?”

Shivering, Steve’s hands reach below for something of Billy. Any part of Billy. He finds downy hair and then Billy’s thighs just above his knees. He grips them maybe too hard, but he needs something to ground himself to Billy. Steve’s nerves have washed away. It’s now or never. 

“I-I mean, can we… are you done with the aloe?”

“I am.”

It takes everything in Billy to keep his awful grin back behind his teeth like a rabid animal trying to break free. He knows Steve is feeling it, knows the physical closeness just now has re-centered Steve’s desires. Steve just needs to keep himself out of his head. It’s the only way he avoids moments of so much uncertainty. Billy hums with his eyes heavy and leans forward for another kiss. It’s plush and soft with their mouths moving together just the one time. Billy denies Steve again, revels in Steve’s bratty whine, and then stands from the bed. 

“Billy wait—”

“Hey, hey,” he says softly, reaching out with a hand to tangle in Steve’s hair. It’s not completely dry yet. “Cool your jets, baby, I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere. Just gimme a second, okay?”

Steve nods and watches from his perch near the foot of the bed as Billy returns the aloe to the bathroom. He washes his hands and comes back out but heads to the nightstand instead of Steve. Steve has to crane up on his rear to watch Billy yank open a drawer and produce a little pipe and a lighter. Steve’s hackles want to raise instantly, mistaking the glass for something more illicit. Billy comes back to him, and then the unmistakable skunkiness of pot washes over them. 

“Now,” Billy says carefully, “I’m not offering this to you like a creep. Meaning I don’t want you to smoke with me so I can get into your pants easier. If you wanna take the edge off, then smoke. If not, it’s no skin off my nose. Okay?”

Billy handles him with such authority, like he knows one wrong thing will scatter this ease between them. If anyone else were to talk to him like this, Steve would object hotly. He’s not a child. He doesn’t need to be coddled, lectured. Nancy frustrates him like that sometimes, even though she means well. Billy means well right now, and Steve finds he doesn’t have a single objection in his head. 

“Okay, I wanna. Do you have something I can drink after? I’m gonna cough like a little bitch.”

Billy smiles at that and says, “Gotta cough to get off.”

He stands again from the bed after handing Steve the pipe and lighter. Left to his own devices, Steve sets the lighter on his thigh and brings the pipe up to his face to squint at it. He has… no idea how to use it. It’s about the length of his thumb, a little longer, and already packed. Holding it the correct way is a mystery. The end opposite the bowl is clearly meant to be where you inhale, but the hole off to the side of the bowl confounds him. Hopefully Billy assumes that and helps him. Steve knows he’s probably a bit of a square with this compared to Billy’s natural ease around smoking, drinking. He’d worry about that, but it’s obvious Billy doesn’t care. 

“Here you go.” Billy walks back in with a beer can held out. “Sorry it’s lite beer.”

“Oh, water woulda been fine, you didn’t have to—”

“I find carbonation helps with the burning. You cough because the smoke irritates your throat.”

Steve smiles through his melting hesitation and pops the top on the can. His heart is lighter when Billy reclaims his spot right in front of Steve, their legs almost tangling. 

“You’re really smart, you know that?”

Billy takes the pipe and lighter back with a huff and, “What, I’m smart because I understand how smoking works?”

“You know what I mean,” Steve says after a gulp of beer. He won’t drink too much. The heat will creep onto his face and make him feel like he’s trapped in a sauna. He’s about to blush like a tomato anyway… “Um, so… how do you use that?”

He watches Billy’s left hand bring the pipe up to his mouth, fingers on one side and his thumb sealed over the hole. For what purpose, Steve doesn’t know. Billy fiddles with the lighter is his right, cursing when he drops it in his lap. 

“Fucking right-handed shit,” he grumbles under his breath. 

“Do you? Want help?”

Billy waves him away with his right hand fisted over the lighter. 

“Nah, I got it. I’m not used to using a lighter in my right hand, but I got it.”

Steve doesn’t understand why Billy can’t just switch which hand holds the pipe until Billy lights it. He only ignites a little section of the bowl rather than letting the flames lick everything. Billy watches him through the top of his vision as he pulls. His thumb over the little hole doesn’t allow the smoke into his mouth, though. The glass is clean enough for Steve to watch the whole process, amazed. When the ember is red and crackling, smoke billowing up inside the pipe, Billy shifts his thumb away to suck the smoke into his mouth. Steve doesn’t have a chance to wonder about it before Billy grabs him around the back of the neck and drags him forward. 

His mouth is open and gasping just as Billy covers his lips. The pressure of someone breathing into his mouth, forcing air and the smoke against his teeth, is startling. Steve inhales on reflex and sucks heavy smoke down farther into his lungs than ever before. He needs only to tense once, eyes watering, before Billy pulls away. It’s a scramble to turn his head from Billy and cough to the side, smoke puffing out of Steve like he’s a damn locomotive. Billy is the one to remind him of the chilly beer in his hand and nudges it so Steve drinks. He almost fucks that up too, almost spits on Billy while trying to stop his chest from heaving. 

“Fuck,” Steve wheezes. The tops of his lungs feel like they’re on fire. And his head swims a little. 

“Take another drink,” Billy mumbles with the pipe against his lips, lighter held aloft in his right hand. “Or just lie down and breathe a little. I probably shouldn’t have given you so much.”

Steve does take another drink, casually flicking Billy off with the other hand. 

“Asshole,” he wheezes yet again. 

Billy smirks as he holds his breath, chest puffing up as he sips air through devilish lips. When he exhales, he does Steve the service of directing the smoke above and to the side. Not that Steve minds anymore, can’t even feel his own tongue in his mouth. Can barely feel his head on his shoulders. Billy is all warm, knowing hums and takes the beer out of his hand. 

“Lie down,” he says with a finger poking Steve’s chest. 

Steve flops back, no more convincing necessary. The bed bounces him once, and then the duvet puffs up around him. The bed is almost alive, it or perhaps the world rocking under him. He sinks into the mattress more than he thinks he should, like it’s trying to hug him. Or eat him. A warm hand settles over his navel, and Steve gives a tiny whine, startled. And then Billy is there, a plume of sunny heat and molten voice. 

“You okay?” He murmurs into Steve’s ear. It tickles when his lips brush the shell. “Steve?”

Propped up on an elbow, right hand supporting his head, Billy stretches out alongside Steve. They’re not lying on the bed properly, taking up the bottom half of it. Steve’s legs still dangle over the end, Billy’s not much better where he curls them to be closer to Steve. He sits right back up as Steve nods slow, like it takes all his concentration to do it. With the lighter and pipe safely back on the nightstand, Billy goes about manhandling Steve to the pillows at the headboard. He’s a dead weight in Billy’s hands, but gives Billy a loopy smile when his head sinks into a pillow. 

“Hey.”

“Hey,” Billy parrots back, deeper and with a wink. 

“You’re…” Steve frowns as his mouth screws up. He tries again carefully, “You’re really pretty.”

Billy ducks closer, grin so fond, and says, “Yea, baby? You think so?”

Steve gives him a tiny, adorable noise instead of nodding. Billy suspects Steve isn’t capable of moving anymore. 

“Billy,” he mumbles through lips that barely move, eyes completely shut now. “Will you mmm… touch me?”

Billy draws in a deep breath that presses the tingling skin of his chest and stomach to Steve. Again, Billy almost wants to shiver from how a chill settles over him when he’s high. Steve is naturally a warm fire, and now the sun has turned him into a furnace. Billy welcomes that heat in the balls of his knees and farther down where he can’t feel his toes. Steve makes a little noise again, but Billy doesn’t pull away. His left hand, ring strangely heavy wrapped around the middle finger, splays over Steve’s navel again. When he draws his hand up to the hollow spot between Steve’s ribs and then back down, Steve shivers like he’ll fall apart. 

All the hair on Billy stands up to the point of pain when Steve chokes on a gasped, “Billy.”

“Feel good, baby?”

Steve finds the strength or willpower to curl his shoulders up near his ears. Billy sinks his teeth into his own lip while petting Steve again, heel of his thumb brushing higher, wider. He wants to see if Steve knows how sensitive his nipples can be. Poor, closeted country boy has probably never even given them any consideration. Billy breathes hard, matching the frantic wing-flap of Steve’s ribs, and hopes Steve gives him the prettiest noise. One he can sip and savor like sweet lemonade. 

Between them, Steve’s left hand clings to the duvet. His right trembles in a fist beside his head on the pillow. No matter how he begs his body to give him control of himself, just for a moment so he can touch Billy too, there’s no answer. Steve at least wants to open his eyes to see Billy. Maybe that way he can beg with his pout for Billy to come closer and kiss him. Billy’s hand is a blissful chill on him, and he wants to show his appreciation. 

Steve is quiet, the sort that makes Billy nervous. He stills his hand over the curve of Steve’s bottom ribs and asks softly, “Still with me, lover boy? I can’t keep going if you fall asleep.”

Steve startles like a shock, and then melty eyes peer up at him. 

“You feel… everywhere. Like you’re everywhere.”

“Yea?”

Steve nods, and his hand trapped between them twitches. He manages to lift it so that it rests on Billy’s thigh instead. 

“It’s so much more,” Steve tries to explain. “Like I can… feel your hand, but it’s touching me everywhere. I…” He arches a little in a shiver, and Billy wants to devour him. “Please do more, keep-keep going.”

Steve’s fingers trembling and digging into his thigh is what drives Billy. Steve must have never fucked anybody while high. Maybe never jerked off stoned. Billy will show him how good it can be. He curls closer until Steve’s face and the pillow under him are all Billy sees. Steve wants more? Billy is here to serve. He doesn’t even feel the cold anymore as he holds his breath, drags his fingers over a pebbled nipple like an accident. Steve drawing in a loud, stuttering breath sinks a molten ball straight behind Billy’s navel. 

“O-ohh, Billy what is-what did…”

Billy slides his hand back up Steve’s front and does it again, Steve’s back snapping like a bow. The sweetest whine spills out of him until he slumps back to the bed. His belly quivers when Billy pets him. Each time, the outside of his pinky drifts lower and lower. Steve has a wispy, thin treasure trail—more like a garden path—that Billy likes to scratch his fingers through. It’s a tease, so close to his cock that’s chubbing up but so far away. Billy wishes he could swoop down and mouth at the blushing head peeking out of Steve’s foreskin. He’d already decided on condoms the moment fucking Steve entered his mind. But he can fantasize. 

His mouth won’t be a total waste, though. A kiss is a great consolation. Billy waits until his hand curves up, thumbs over Steve’s other nipple, and then sinks himself into Steve’s gasp. His whimper dances over Billy’s tongue and curls in the back of his throat until he gives a responding moan. He needs only to roll his pelvis firm and slow against Steve’s hip to pleasure himself. That and Steve’s pretty gasps he sips on. Again, like the sweetest lemonade. Billy laps Steve’s noises right out of him along with a gentle pinch to a nipple. Just enough pressure to shock him. 

They separate only when Steve’s nails bite into Billy’s thigh. Steve gasps as Billy leaves him, mouth still caught in a needy sound. It’s a shock in the peace of the bedroom. Steve hears it in a delay through the static in his ears. But when he does hear it, he instantly knows it’s himself. Steve tilts his head back into the pillow, lifting his chin, and stutters out shy whimpers when Billy draws tight circles over the nipple he hadn’t pinched. It’s like he chases a static spark around and around, catches up to it when he flicks the poor nub, and then goes back to chasing. 

Steve is thankful he can’t open his eyes. If he could, he’d look down at himself and see how terribly wet he is already. It’s a distant buzz in the head of his cock, like water running over it until his nerves are numb. He is numb where Billy flicks lazily, sometimes so gently and other times so hard it stings. All that sobbing wetness from his cock from just a little attention to his chest. Something he hadn’t thought remotely possible. 

“Billy,” Steve pleads with his throat tight, voice higher. “P-please, please, need you, god…”

Billy doesn’t remark on the Lord, but he bows to Steve’s chest like an altar. Perversely he recalls Communion and accepting the body of Christ on his tongue. Billy’s spirit soars as he does the same now, only laps his tongue over a nipple, flicking at the end. Steve shouts under him and bows up again. He lifts himself up to Billy’s mouth. Billy almost cuts his teeth from the shove. He just chases Steve back down with a harsh drag of his teeth just under a rosy bud. The longer he plays with them, the darker they flush with blood. Eager to push Steve more, Billy’s lips seal tight around the nub, suckling gentle like. 

Steve’s shout is incoherent. His body strains and demands he shout, cry, something. Billy humming around his nipple makes the demand that much more urgent. The need for animal sounds tears out of him in a shocked wail. How could he have known so much sensation would concentrate here? Each brush, kiss, and lick pools thick syrup into the heat of his belly. And the high just makes it more, more, like Billy’s mouth is on him everywhere. Steve quivers all over and only collapses when Billy lets him go, blows a cool stream of air across the plane of Steve’s chest. His skin tightens all the more. 

“Baby, baby,” Billy whispers through a pant. “Jesus, you would be so pretty with piercings. I’d learn how to do it myself so I could do it to you. They’d be so sensitive all the time, I could play with them until you come from that alone.”

Muscles under Steve’s navel give a terrible kick, and Steve dribbles clear precome from his head. Billy rests his head on Steve just to watch it ooze out of him. 

“I could put little bells on them and listen to you twinkle in my lap.”

Another jolt, and Steve grows harder. 

“Or clamps for them, and I’ll lick the pain away when I take them off.”

Steve’s stomach surges under Billy’s left hand. 

“Billy,” he pleads. 

Billy bites back a fond smile and turns his head to mouth a bite over Steve’s belly. That rips another shudder out of him, another whine. All music to Billy’s ears. He throws himself back to the pillow, back to Steve’s blushing ear. A breath on Steve’s exposed neck makes the peach fuzz on him tense. The moment Steve knows he’s there, long delay later, Steve turns his head to share air with him. 

“Please,” he slurs. “M-more…”

Billy swipes his tongue over the slight gap between Steve’s lips, is pleased when Steve opens wider to give him whatever he wants. He keeps an eye on those pretty lips while gliding his hand down. His fingers scratch through pubic hair, barely avoiding the base of Steve’s dick. 

“Well baby? What should I do?”

Steve bites back a sound and then forces out, “Touch me.”

Billy’s fingers just pet through short, black curls. 

“I am, baby doll. Can’t you feel me?”

Steve gives a feeble pop of his hips. No one has ever teased him this long, touched him how he touches girls to get them squirmy and excited. He’ll probably come in a few strokes, but he wants to feel Billy’s strong, thick fingers wrapped around him. Wants to come while the sensation of Billy is still all over his skin, everywhere at once. 

“More, please, please,” he pants, lifting his hips like he’s already fucking Billy’s hand. If he lets go and submits to the tingling over his skin, he can pretend Billy is already tight around him. 

“Want me to touch this pretty dick of yours?” Billy’s fingers slide past it, still avoiding firm flesh. “Wish I could get you in my mouth, give you something warm to fuck, let you fill me up.”

Steve’s ears burn. His head swims. Billy would enjoy blowing him, would make him see stars. Nancy never wants to, and Steve would never make her. He always gives up after pleading twice, throwing big puppy eyes at her. But Billy? Steve’s fingers twitch like they’re already sunk into sandy blond hair, holding on or pushing Billy down. Billy’s hands on his thighs, voice deep and rumbling around his flesh. It’s all phantom images and sensations, not real, but Steve mewls like it’s happening. 

“Please,” he nearly sobs. “Please, anything, god Billy, I need you.”

A kiss pecks Steve’s wet cheek. Is he sweating or crying?

“Do you still want me to play with your ass? I won’t put anything inside you, baby. Promise.”

Steve’s next shiver is burning hot. He forces watery eyes open to find Billy through the haze, hair falling on Steve’s chest where Billy rests on him below. Steve makes a whine, something lonely and vulnerable, and Billy sits up like something possessed.

“Steve? Are you okay?”

Steve nods and blushes until he’s dizzy, can’t believe he’s getting ready to say this. 

“You can… try your fingers. I want to feel you, I want it to f-feel good, with you.”

A pause. And then a kiss so soft to his slack mouth. He just whimpers through it as Billy licks into him. He tries to touch back, to slide wet and slow past Billy’s tongue. But his own tongue feels too big for his mouth. Steve can’t even keep his eyes open. 

They separate, and then, “Anything, baby, anything for you.” A fast peck. “I’ll treat you so good, Steve.”

Steve wishes he could tell Billy that he trusts him. That he knows Billy will make this good for him. It’s why he gives Billy permission in the first place. Surely Billy knows what that permission means. 

Another kiss before, “I’m gonna sit up and grab lube, okay? I’m not leaving, I’m right here.”

Billy stretches across the bed, throwing at arm out. He wants to leave some part of his body touching Steve. The last thing he wants is paranoia creeping into Steve’s high and making him a nervous wreck. He’s so beautiful right now, quivering from head to toe, chest and hips arching for invisible hands. Steve’s hips sink back to the bed, and that's when Billy climbs on top of him. He laughs when Steve bucks under him. But Billy dives his right hand into Steve’s hair. The touch instantly relaxes him. 

“See? I’m right here. I’m gonna make you feel so good, baby. Just wait.”

“Hurry,” Steve breathes. “Hurry, hurry…”

Perched on top of Steve like this, Billy wonders if he rode Steve, would Steve cry? Wouldn’t be the first time. Steve isn’t that macho bullshit type who somehow thinks sticking his dick in someone makes him more of a man. Billy nibbles on his lower lip while thinking about it. He’d love to pet vulnerable tears off Steve’s blushing cheeks, riding his cock until Steve came with a little cry. All of it for him. Billy making Steve feel that. 

He shivers. Not this time. Maybe not ever. But it’s a heady thought that has him sticky and wet at the head of his own cock. He’ll get off on Steve getting off, doesn’t much care if he comes. Steve will care, though. Bill remembers with his heart in his throat, Steve whispering, ‘You too.’ Coming against Steve’s thigh with Steve in his mouth, in his nose. Steve will want to pleasure him, too. Billy’s thighs squeeze around Steve’s boyish hips. Maybe he cares a little about coming. 

Billy almost topples the nightstand with how hard he throws the drawer open. He leaves his right hand in Steve’s hair while straining with the left for lube he knows is there. The nice water-based one that won’t leave Steve slimy or oily between his cheeks after. So they can fall asleep after and sleep off their high, maybe wake up later and fuck again. If Steve enjoys this, he’ll be nice and loose later. Maybe Billy will eat him out. 

At least he’ll enjoy the fantasy. Giving oral through a dental dam isn’t great. After a while, the taste of the latex makes him gag. That or his mouth dries out. And he’s not the type to suggest they just risk it. One mistake, and Steve would catch it. No cure. Only death. Billy would rather never see, kiss, or touch Steve again than have Steve die. So for now, making Steve come on his tongue will remain that: a fantasy. 

Lube in hand and desperate to chase his sadness away, Billy backs off Steve’s hips. Kneeling beside Steve, Billy snags the end of the lube between his teeth. His hands are free to reach for Steve’s legs, lifting and separating them. Billy needs a place to sit with the best possible vantage point. If Steve doesn’t like fingers in him, then at least Billy can tease his hole while jerking him off. In his heart-of-hearts, of course, he would love to watch Steve shake and come on fingers milking his orgasm out. 

Billy is banking on this being the most intense orgasm of Steve’s life. One he’ll remember through the fog of his high. Maybe Billy will get those beautiful doe eyes crying yet. Tucking the lube beside his own thigh, Billy shivers with his hands cupping Steve’s calves. Like this, shushing Steve and cooing him, Billy guides Steve’s legs to bend, for Steve to shift his weight to his tailbone. Curl up, up, and up until Billy can sit nearly flush with Steve’s ass and then wrap Steve’s legs around him. Like earlier, in the water. Billy takes a moment to sit there and just pet Steve. To smother him in soft touches, to reacquaint Steve with his touch after leaving him without for so long. 

“Jesus, baby, you’re something else.” Billy rubs his hands up the insides of Steve’s thighs, watches the way his cock twitches. “So fucking beautiful. I could sit here and finger you all day. Get you so loose you don’t even feel me anymore.”

Billy pinches Steve’s thighs, gently like his nipples. Not meant to hurt. Not this time. Steve’s wiggle and whimper fuels the tingling in Billy’s skin. The tops of Steve’s thighs and the V of his hip are next for Billy’s hands. He’ll brush and pet here until Steve is a begging, quivering mess. He’s nearly there already. Billy skates his fingers closer and closer to Steve’s blushing prick as he goes up, down, up, down. All the while, Steve heaves in great mouthfuls of air between whimpers and arching his body. He snaps his hips in the air multiple times, a movement that is familiar and confident. Billy thinks about himself there. Not Nancy. 

“Beautiful,” he growls while flattening Steve back down, powerful hand covering Steve’s navel. “So fucking beautiful. Gonna ruin you, baby, make you mine, make you scream my name.”

Steve gives a desperate nod, hair flopping coy and soft over his eyes. 

“Billy, Billy, please…”

“Please?” He purrs through a grin, leaning up to tower above Steve, catching amber eyes glimmering through narrow slits. “Tell me what you want, Steve. What do you want?”

Steve throws his head to the side and hunches his shoulders, trying to block his ears from his own voice. 

“Touch me with your fingers.” Steve biting his lip and then, “Fuck me, Billy.”

Billy fumbles with the lube and tries to remove his ring at the same time, unwilling and unable to take his eyes off Steve’s face. Moisture clings to Steve’s eyelashes when he closes those pretty browns. Billy’s breaths come hard and rasping when he thinks that moisture might dew up. Might bead up and roll. He licks his lips, tongue careful, like he can taste the salt. Billy ducks his head, hissing and sucking his next inhale through his teeth. He wants, he wants, he wants. 

“Stay with me, Steve,” he says full of tenderness, lube finally uncapped and held ready. “Gotta tell me when to stop, okay?”

Lube drizzling lukewarm and slippery on hot velvet cuts off Steve’s nod, turns it into a wrench of his head as he moans. He doesn’t consider it strange that Billy does that to his dick. Why not… lower? He’s too caught up in the buzzing, thrumming of his body. The aftershocks of Billy petting his thighs still trickles heat in his guts. He’s not over it yet, but he’s ready for more. For Billy to hurry. Steve gives a whiny huff and impatient wiggle. Hurry. 

If Billy’s voice were any warmer, Steve would melt. Billy shushes him like before, murmurs far away for Steve to breathe and relax. Steve’s legs twitch where they hook over Billy’s hips. A snap of the lube cap—snap shut, all done, has what he needs—jolts the heat in Steve’s belly. It all just funnels into the hardon flagging on his hip. Billy shifting between his legs and then warm, wet fingers grazing Steve’s ass help remedy that.

It’s a shocked gasp that whispers out of him. Not pain, not fright. Steve clings to the pillow and duvet under him, arches his neck back. Relax, Billy had said. It will feel good when Billy does it. Billy plays his body like a guitar, knows how to drift fingers over his ribs like frets, the insides of his thighs pinched to adjust his sound. Steve wants to scream and wail to match how Billy plays him.

Ah, he remembers this. Billy is careful with the first caress. Just the gentle pressure of fingers seeking the softness between his cheeks. He’d done this too. But with Billy, Steve’s belly goes flopping, heart leaping into his throat. Bitten lips fall open, jaw trembling a little as Billy breathes on him, warmth spilling over Steve’s electric skin. And then fingers are moving, careful to pet and push, searching for places that make Steve whimper and shake him. Steve doesn’t know whose hips are moving, whose body chases Billy’s fingers rubbing his hole. It must be his, but he’s not doing that. It just feels right. Good. 

Billy has his right hand slapped to the headboard so he hunches over Steve. They’ve bent his back a little, curled his hips towards his chest like Billy is fucking him wild and deep. Billy just needs to be close, to watch Steve’s face while coaxing him open. Steve trembles as Billy takes to flicking the pads of his fingers over his hole, wishing so much it was his tongue instead. Steve panting makes Billy think maybe it works. Billy holds on to that delicious fantasy as he sweeps his right hand back down. He stoops above Steve with precarious balance to hold his baby down with one hand. The fingers of his left hand push forward, the middle sliding past tight skin and muscles. 

Steve jumps just as Billy knew he would. Steve bucks against Billy’s hand just as Billy knew he would. Steve sagging into the bed with his voice going high as he pants is not what Billy had expected. All the tension leaves Steve sleepy soft and shaking. His hands spasm in the sheets, throat constricted to hold his noises. Billy stares awed at this beautiful boy unraveling. He dares to sink in deeper, wanting the last row of his knuckles flush with Steve’s body. Billy pulls back, eyes full where Steve’s mouth opens in a silent cry, and then slides home. 

Billy knows something. He must, must to graze his finger past something in Steve that makes him buck, makes his thighs shake, makes him crazy for Billy to do it again. It hadn’t been anything like this in the shower. Steve throws his head back into the pillow and murmurs incoherent nonsense, Billy’s name, pleas for more, everything. He would murmur a prayer if he knew one. Steve squirms and feels himself moving on Billy’s fingers. It’s a slick thought that has his belly flipping again. He’s hard between his legs again when Billy’s right hand wraps around him, tugs his foreskin like Billy isn’t afraid of him. 

“Steve,” Billy pants above him. “I wish you could see yourself, how you take me so good, look so pretty with me inside you. Fuck, you’re beautiful. Perfect, so perfect for me.”

That makes everything so much better. Billy’s voice like fingers tickling his ears, like kisses on his neck right where he wants them. Steve arches on the bed and rocks himself between Billy’s hands. He hopes Billy is watching him in total awe, can’t take his eyes off, couldn’t if he tried. Steve doesn’t care if he’s doing it right. Doesn’t care if he looks like an absolute loon. Billy’s hand is confident, knows exactly how to squeeze, how to swipe at the head to make a mess out of him. Doesn’t gross him out. And he doesn’t stop after just a few strokes like good enough. 

Steve frowns and whimpers when Billy pulls out. He isn’t expecting another finger, isn’t expecting how his body gives and the emptiness in him fills right back up. It knocks a yell out of him, shocked. Billy hesitates with his fingers only half in. Not deep like Steve wants. He grits his teeth with his head already spinning and rolls his body to welcome Billy back inside. Steve’s buzzing rim spread like this sends a punch right to his gut, knocks a grunt out of him. 

Billy’s chest and back heave as he breathes shallowly, forgets to breathe at all sometimes while watching Steve. He wants to pick up the pace, wants to move Steve’s body a little. Get the bed shaking, headboard banging. Billy shuffles on his knees and keeps his right hand slow. Casual. Meant to entertain Steve but not be the main attraction. Billy is more interested in seeing if he can get Steve to come from penetration. It’s so easy for himself, but he knows some guys struggle with it. He wants that intensity for Steve, how different it is than any orgasm Steve ever had before. Billy wants that. 

“Still want more, baby? Can I give you more?”

Steve nods with his lip in his teeth. He still ruts himself up into Billy’s hand, still fucks himself on two fingers. The pressure is so strange, embarrassing in a way he doesn’t want to think about. Especially Billy forcing his fingers apart inside him, testing Steve’s resistance. That has Steve’s toes curling where he clutches his legs tight to Billy’s body. Is this what it would be like? If Billy were fucking him? Steve would prefer it this way so Billy can watch him, easily reach whatever he wants. A kiss is what he wants right now, so lonely without realizing it. 

“More,” he whimpers. Steve manages to force his eyes open, just a little, and pleads, “Billy, c’mere…”

Ah, if he leans too far forward, he’ll fall over. And Billy would rather not crush Steve while fingering him. Billy shudders at the desire in Steve’s request. The need laced in there. He can leverage some of his weight against Steve’s body if he presses his hand flat to Steve’s ass, using his middle and ring finger to fuck him instead. The shock of Billy’s palm striking the bottom of Steve’s ass will be so pleasing this way. 

Billy shushes Steve’s pitiful whine when he slips out, “Just for a second, baby, don’t be that way. I’ll give you what you want, fill you back up.”

Steve’s wiggle and whine when Billy does just that, middle and ring finger sinking deep—a thing of beauty. Like this, Billy bends down like Steve had asked. Billy’s palm and the rest of his fingers spread over Steve’s ass help his balance. Once he’s close enough, watery eyes focusing on him, Steve cranes his head up. Billy reads the atmosphere like a first language and mouths a slow kiss at first, head bobbing with Steve kissing him back. Then he is all take, all plunder as Steve’s bruised lips open to him. He’s been biting himself this whole time. Billy isn’t much better. 

“Want you,” Steve mumbles with their mouths barely off each other. “So bad, Billy…”

Billy wishes he had thought this through better. Balanced himself better to fuck Steve, play with his leaking prick, and kiss him all at the same time. This would be perfectly easy if they were actually fucking—pelvis meeting pelvis, Steve bracing himself against the headboard lest he brain himself from Billy slamming him into it. He growls into their filthy kiss, nips Steve’s lower lip, and then sits back up. If he wants Steve bouncing against the headboard, then he’ll do it. 

Strong thighs help Billy huddle closer to Steve. He scoots the other boy up the bed this way, crowding Steve and bending his back. He’d pin Steve’s knees to his chest, but that only works with free hands. That thought just helps firm Billy’s resolve. Steve is relaxed and warm around him. The lube still plenty wet. Steve can take some action. A little bit of fast and filthy. Billy keeps burning eyes on Steve as he does that, picks up his slow pace until his hand smacks into Steve’s ass every time he bottoms out. 

As the motion of Billy’s hand picks up, so too do Steve’s breaths and noises. By the time the sounds between his legs become too much, too embarrassing, Steve can’t even hear them. The slick, filthy thrust of fingers in him dwindles to a sensation. Buzzing and vague at his stretched rim, cruel and hot like burning over that nerve inside him. To drown it out, Steve’s mouth hangs open with moans for as long as his air lasts. Billy’s other hand is tight, almost mean over his cock. It won’t be much more, now. Billy knows his body too well, knows its secrets and its codes too well. With his chin in his chest and toes curling, Steve forces his eyes open. Moisture at the corners finally gives and escapes, rolls down his burning cheeks. 

Billy stares back into those needy eyes and crooks his fingers, curls them and rubs circles over Steve’s walls. This is all Steve needs to get to the end. His pretty cock is a weeping, blushing thing that leaks more and more all the time. Billy times it so that his thrusts thunder into Steve, forcing his body right into the tight circle of Billy’s fist. Back and forth like this, never giving Steve’s nerves a break. A mean squeeze over Steve’s head, thumb relentless as it rubs more fluid from the slit, is the tipping point. Billy thanks his lucky stars for his photographic memory. He wants the image of Steve’s mouth going slack and eyes forced shut to remain in his head forever. 

Steve’s whole body has never shook like this before. Like someone rattles him from the inside. Like the waves from the beach beating over him. Relentless and powerful. His cock jumping in time to something other than his muscles jerking. No, no, it’s Billy fingers pounding into him that control the waves of his orgasm. At the peak of every wave, Billy’s fingers are right there. Steve’s moans help him know when it is, how long it lasts. Steve tries to keep his eyes on Billy’s, but it’s too intense. Instead, Steve stares down the curve of his body to where his cock spurts over Billy’s tight fist. It happens to him in slow motion, obscene and wet. 

“Fuck, Steve,” Billy whines above him, trembling almost just as badly as Steve. “Fuck baby, god damn…” 

He keeps going through Steve’s whimpers, through Steve shaking. Not as hard anymore. Just enough to chase the aftershocks and make it good for Steve all the way until the end. When Steve finally flops loose and floating on the bed, that’s when Billy slips out. He lingers at the poor, loose rim of Steve’s entrance, petting it just to watch Steve flinch from the shocks. He knows what that’s like—his body strung out, no more, no more, but it feels too good to ask the other person to stop. He’ll refrain from showing Steve just how short his refractory period can be. That’s not the tone for this first encounter. Billy doesn’t want to ruin it. 

“Billy…” Steve sighs when hands leave him. His heartbeat still throbs all over his skin—in his lips, his fingertips, the soreness between his cheeks. That’s a new thing, how each little aftershock in his dick is somehow tied to his ass, too. He hadn’t known that could be a thing. “D-did you…”

Billy instantly knows what Steve means. You, too. 

“Not yet, baby, but I’m right there. I could come just watching you.”

Steve’s hands are useless like the rest of him. Still they twitch where they’re balled up, affection for Billy and wanting to make him feel good fighting against his exhaustion. Even fucking a girl doesn’t take him out like this. He’s certainly never had this impact on a girl, either, made her head spin and everything feel just right. Steve’s bitten lips stretch in a grin, a little giggle. He thinks maybe he’s been doing it wrong the whole time. Imitating what he’s seen and thinking it was good enough. Billy changed the game for him, just now. He’ll never think about sex the same way. 

“Let me… ?” Steve asks without his eyes even open. 

A kiss ghosts over his forehead, and then, “Next time, baby. I’ll let you do whatever you want to me next time.”

“Kay… I…” Steve forced his eyes open to find Billy still close. Just watching him. “I don’t think I’ll be any good.”

The bed shifts and Billy’s body shivers above Steve, right hand braced back on the headboard. Steve figures out which way is down again and spies Billy’s hand slow and teasing over himself. Like he doesn’t need it to feel good. Steve is enough. 

“Don’t talk like that,” Billy says on the edge of a gasp, body arching up and neck tense. Beautiful. “You’re perfect, so pretty and good to me, baby.”

Steve’s attention, as unsteady as it is, is all on Billy. He wants to kiss Billy when he comes. Steve’s left hand shakes something terrible, something newborn when he lifts it to Billy’s face. He gets as far as the pendant between Billy’s pecs, hand covering the blessed Mary and feeling how hot Billy is. Someone plucks a cord in Billy, because a rough shiver tears through him. It’s terrifying like watching a tree about to fall. 

Steve digs his fingers into golden skin and whines, “Billy, I wanna…”

Billy shushes him through trembling lips and bows down to muffle Steve’s words. It’s what Steve wants, though, so he loops his weak arm around Billy’s neck to keep him close. Billy groans into their kiss, just their lips slotted together as he alternates between panting and sliding his tongue against Steve’s. It might be the only part of Steve that isn’t overstimulated right now. Steve gets his fingers wrapped around Billy’s damp hair and gives a tug. 

Billy grunts into Steve’s mouth, slurs, “Fuck,” and comes on Steve’s stomach. 

Steve doesn’t get to watch. It occurs to him with his mouth full of Billy’s moans, just full of Billy, that he’s never seen another guy come. It can’t be that different. Billy shaking against him has Steve’s heart climbing into his throat. A good squeeze. A tightness in his throat he doesn’t mind. Billy breaks their lazy kisses with a groan and his teeth sinking into his lower lip. Like this, pulled away, a narrow gap between them welcomes Steve’s eyes down. His stomach is a mess of his own come gone clear, Billy’s fresh on top of that. 

It’s only a little gross. It’s Billy, though, so he won’t urgently spring for a wet rag. They need another shower, Steve especially. He gives a test wiggle to get a feel for all the new sensations. It’s a relief after the fact that Billy fingering him had felt amazing, better than anything he ever felt before. That he was wrong when he thought he didn’t like it. Well… maybe not wrong. Just uninformed. Ignorant. Not anymore. 

Billy grumbles above Steve as he welcomes exhaustion. His thighs shake a little when he scoots away from Steve towards the edge of the bed. He only now tunes into the downpour outside, how the sky is a little green. He huffs a laugh and watches out the window as trees whip around, loose leaves and other small debris scattering like confetti. It’s the perfect setting to lie down next to Steve and drift off. Take a nap. Maybe just sleep the rest of the day away, fuck it. 

Right hand drawing over Steve’s hair, Billy murmurs, “Be right back,” and then he stands. 

He snatches the beer he’d stolen from Steve earlier and chugs a mouthful. It’s gross and slightly warm, but he needs something. His mouth is all dry as he stands there and watches Steve for a spell, post-coitus soft and practically asleep. It’s a good sign when he fucks a guy into a nap. No awkward conversation about how Steve had actually wanted him to stop, didn’t like it and was too scared to ask Billy to stop. That’s fucking happened before, and Billy would probably put his own hand through a wall if Steve said that. 

The need to clean Steve up and return to his side drives Billy’s tired body to keep moving. He needs a damp rag, needs to take care petting Steve’s thighs apart and wiping between his cheeks. He’s glad Steve only gives a little grunt and wiggle. Steve would probably be embarrassed to have a guy mop him up. Some guys are stuck in their heads about that, feel like that breaks their masculinity more than the ass fucking itself. Somehow. Billy tries to not get his head caught up in stuff like that. Makes him think about his dad, and Neil Hargrove has no place in this sanctum. 

The bed dips beside Steve once more. Weight lingers. Steve rolls with a bratty whine and throws his arms over Billy like worn ropes anchoring a ship to shore. He won’t let Billy go this time. The skin on his belly may be tacky and his hair is stuck to his forehead still, but he won’t let Billy go. Hopefully Frankie has a crowbar around here somewhere. Billy has no idea what beast he has unleashed. 

“Wow,” Billy murmurs warm and long in Steve’s ear, down where Steve tucks himself to Billy’s shoulder. “You are very cuddly after getting fucked. It makes sense somehow, but I wasn’t expecting it.”

Before Steve flinches away like this is a mistake, Billy scoops him up. He’s flat on his back with Steve half on top of him, holding Steve’s head to his shoulder with a strong hand in Steve’s hair. They pause for a breath, just feeling the other’s body heat and skin, and then they relax as one with a shared sigh. 

“Just like this,” Billy says to no one. The storm. The memories like ghosts in the bedroom. Maybe Steve. “Lemme hold you just like this.”

Steve noses along the dips and hills of Billy’s clavicle. Billy’s voice, something lingering there, has Steve’s throat going tight. Like when he’d been a child and fell off his bike, looking around to decide to cry or not. Only he finds that he wants to a little, has to sit up slowly with his mouth trailing over Billy’s neck, his jaw, and then pulling at his lips a little too desperate like. Billy entertains him for a few kisses and then backs off. His face isn’t meant for shock. Isn’t built for it, looks like it hurts Billy more than anything. His left hand is tender on Steve’s cheek, thumb almost clumsy where it drags a tear away. 

“Baby? What’s wrong?” When Steve just gives a hopeless shrug, Billy tries again, softer, “Steve?”

“I-I don’t know,” Steve gasps through his throat tightening up again. Like he wants to scream. “I don’t know, just all of a sudden, I-I’m sorry, I—”

“Hush, come here, come here, baby, let me…”

And Steve goes, allows Billy a moment to hop onto his side, and then Steve is down. That same hand on his cheek dives so gently into his hair, guides Steve to tuck his face to Billy’s throat. He’s alive, so alive under golden skin. Steve bites himself to not tremble. He thinks maybe… Billy holding him all tender like this takes him right back to his breakdown in the bathroom. Earlier. Billy holds him now, but what about later this week?

When will be the last time he kisses Billy? The last time Billy aims that smirk and that beautiful face his way? It’s not fair, it’s not fair, it’s not fair!

So Steve just grits his teeth until they hurt to fight back that swell of emotion. Crying like he’s a little bitch when he knew this would happen. Stupid, stupid, why is he so fucking stupid?!

Billy shushes him with his chin hooked over Steve’s head. He has no choice but to let Steve ride it out. He knows without Steve saying anything what this is about. But if he reaches for that terrible pain, tangles himself in the rose thorns like Steve has, he’ll prick his fingers. And it’ll be all over. He’ll lose it, never was any good when it came to crying. So Billy rubs his cheek over Steve’s hair and just holds him. He lets Steve shake, hold his breath through hotter tears, and then goes back to shaking when he breathes again. Billy can’t say everything will be okay. Because it won’t. All they have it this. 

“I’m right here, Steve,” Billy says with his voice thick. Maybe Steve can’t even hear him. He presses a kiss through Steve’s hair to his head and holds him tighter. “I got you, baby. I’m right here.”


	16. Mine, Yours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billy shows Steve something new.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gratuitous sex... Or is it? Also sorry it's late, I was really busy. Just two more chapters lol.

Fluttering kisses are what stir Billy awake. Dusting all over his collarbones, the space between his pecs. When had he and Steve fallen asleep? He doesn’t know, doesn’t care. He sucks a deep breath as Steve’s kisses pause over his chest. Steve has a hand on him, flattened over his navel like he wants to feel every breath, every twitch. A wiry smirk cracks Billy’s sleepy face. Mmm how long has Steve been exploring? 

“See something you like?”

Billy stretches with his eyes still closed, jumps and coos a little when Steve’s lips draw over one of his nipples. Oh. So it’s like that, huh? Billy cracks a murky eye open and finds Steve pink and shy above him, lying sleepy warm along Billy’s body. Brown eyes flash up towards him, back away and closed, and then Steve’s tongue laps out. 

“Great way to wake up,” Billy points out with another shiver. 

Steve says nothing, just goes back to running his lips over Billy’s wet nipple. It’s practiced ease, because when it’s finally burning and hard, Steve plucks at it with the nub pinched between his lips. It’s plenty of stoking for Billy’s embers, gets him hot from one breath to another. The only thing that stops him from letting the flame ignite the fuel in him is how quiet Steve is. How Steve won’t look at him for long.

They can’t talk about it. Billy had tried yesterday, held Steve’s hand in the kitchen while they looked for something to eat. No clothes on, just fresh from waking up. He looked at Steve, words burning in his throat. But he couldn’t do it, doesn’t want to fight with Steve. For once in his life doesn’t want to fight. Steve just lost what little happiness he mustered and dragged Billy back to the bedroom, condom slipping so fast over Billy’s dick, Steve’s mouth clumsy, and then ultimately coming in Steve’s hand. There were no tears that time. But Billy still welcomed Steve to his neck and held him until Steve’s breaths returned to normal. 

So they can’t talk about it. 

“Hey,” Billy says warmly. “You wanna touch me?”

Again doe eyes flash up at him and then away. 

A nod. 

Billy nods too, reaches out for Steve just shy of connecting. 

“Can I touch you, too?”

Steve’s face twitches through a few emotions before he takes Billy’s hand and holds it to his cheek, breathes on his wrist. 

“Yes,” Steve says at last, voice hushed like a prayer. “Please.”

Billy hums deep and low, sits up without taking his hand away. Steve blinks somewhere near Billy’s chest, maybe watching his pendant dangle. Billy hops closer, tries to bend his head down to bring Steve’s eyes up. It doesn’t work. Steve just closes them. 

“You wanna try something new?” Billy tempts. 

Steve opens his eyes again after a pause and finally meets Billy’s. 

“Can I fuck you?”

It’s not what Billy expects, but he certainly won’t deny Steve. A little thrill runs through him, but his brain isn’t satisfied with just that. Billy gets a knee under him so he can sit up and turn Steve’s other cheek towards him, kissing it as Steve sighs. 

“Hell yea, baby, I’d love that. I was thinking we could fuck each other at the same time, but…”

Face pinched a little and confused, Steve asks, “How?”

Finally Billy cracks a smile.

“What, you never 69’d with that Nancy of yours?” He teases with a wink, a rush of relief washing over him when Steve snorts and rolls his eyes. “Boys can do it together too, you know. You wanna?”

Steve grumbles out the corner of his mouth, “I thought that was just something people did in porn…”

Billy kisses the beginning of Steve’s pout and murmurs against him, “So you wanna? I promise it’ll be so good.”

It will be good, because Billy has an ace up his sleeve. Or a pair of aces, really. He bets the keys to his car that Steve has never used a vibrator on anyone, let alone had one used on him. Billy bites back a grin, still in Steve’s breathing space, when Steve swallows with a click and nods. His hair is still messy and floppy from sleep. He’s beautiful. 

Another quick peck to Steve’s cheek, Billy fully committed to ignoring their shared sadness, he climbs to the edge of the bed. When Steve flinches like he means to stop Billy or follow him, Billy winks at him. 

“It takes some maneuvering, but I’ll set us up. Lemme grab a few things and I’ll get you right where I want you.”

“Can I blow you again? While we do it?”

Billy’s belly flops, everything in him crooning yes, but instead he drawls, “Absolutely. Condoms were already part of the game plan, babe, so go to town. My body is yours to play with.”

He grins over his shoulder, gives a quick back-and-fourth jerk of his hips. That runs some of Steve’s heartache right out of him. He wants to enjoy this, hadn’t wanted his dumb feelings making things awkward after he cried on Billy yesterday. He wants to make up for last night’s world’s worst blowjob. Disappointment ran hot through Steve’s cheeks when he gave up and just jerked Billy off to get him to come. He wants to try again. He wants Billy to feel as good as he does. 

Billy is quick around Frankie’s bedroom, tugging open drawers and gathering whatever he needs. When Billy tosses not one but two toys on the bed, simple vibrators Steve recognizes from porn only, his eyebrows rocket up. Melancholy swiftly forgotten. Billy is busy with something else, steps out of the bedroom mumbling something about water. Like a child sneaking about, Steve hunches on himself when he picks up one of the vibrators. 

It’s white like the other one. Both have a flared base, the purpose of such a thing beyond Steve—for now. Even if Steve didn’t know what it is, the blunt shape of it might clue him in. He swallows hard as his face grows hotter and hotter. He has to know what wild things Billy is about to do to him. Steve’s fingers find the bottom of the toy, find that it gives like its mechanical, and accidentally twists it on. 

Somehow, he doesn’t drop it. Doesn’t squeal or sputter like he wants to. The moment the vibrator hums to life, Steve bounces it around in his hands like a perverse game of hot potato, scrambling to keep it in his grasp. When he gets a firm grip around it to shut it off, Billy wanders back into the bedroom with two cups in his hands. It’s probably water, and Steve is dying of thirst right now, but all thoughts of his need dry up as Billy stares at him. 

“Couldn’t help yourself, huh, baby?”

Steve’s face pinches, embarrassed. 

“I wanted to know what it felt like!”

Billy sucks his teeth at Steve, shakes his head while bringing him a cup. 

“Naughty boy, about to play with yourself when all that”—Billy waves a hand over Steve—“is mine.”

Billy’s tone has him hot up to his ears, and Steve whines, “I wasn’t!”

“Drink your water,” Billy commands with a smirk behind his own glass. “Gotta stay hydrated if we’re gonna continue yesterday’s marathon.”

That’s as close as Billy is willing to get to mentioning yesterday. He doesn’t want to upset Steve. Fighting is out of the question. They can’t talk about it. 

Steve scoffs, grumbles, “Yes, sir,” and does as he’s told. 

Steve can’t possibly know that calling Billy ‘sir’ all bratty like that sparks vicious memories of dad’s voice spitting in his face. Hounding him and taunting him. Humiliating him in front of Max, Susan, company. Everyone. Billy chokes on his next sip, has to set the cup down or risk dropping it. Steve is all smirks—haha, gotcha—but it melts when Billy continues to cough. 

“Billy, are you okay? Down the wrong pipe?”

Eyes watering, Billy nods and takes the excuse for what it is. 

“Take another drink, it’ll help,” Steve urges over Billy struggling for air. 

Fuck it, it’s worth a shot. Billy fights to not cough more while sucking down another gulp of water. It helps, although he’s not sure why. 

“Fuck,” he gasps, eyes wet enough that he has to drag his thumb across both. “Fucking Jesus, god damn…”

Steve sits back down on the bed, not even aware he’d sat up like he could help Billy. Maybe smack him in the back or something but…

“Jesus man, didn’t know a little obedience did it for you. Should I call you ‘sir’ more often?”

Billy doesn’t know if he’s ever gone from 100 to 0 so very quickly. He could just hurl. Instead, Billy grimaces at Steve and sips some more water.

When he’s done and gathers himself, he says pointedly to Steve, “Never again. I’m not into that roleplaying shit.”

There’s a story here somewhere. Billy had practically snapped that at him, and his grimace is still heavy on his face. Steve shrinks down a little and breaks their stare. Well, he went and royally fucked that up… 

“Hey sorry man, I was kidding, I didn’t mean anything.”

Billy sighs, drags a shaking hand through his hair, and then like nothing happened, he’s all smiles again. He leaves the water on the nightstand. Billy trades that burden for condoms from the drawer, taking care to shut it gently. 

“No, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have bit your head off like that.” Billy sits beside Steve and waits until Steve looks at him again. “I know you were playing around. I’m not mad.”

Steve is still too shy, too avoidant for Billy’s liking. He leans into Steve’s space to coax him in for a kiss. When that doesn’t work, Billy bends his head down to mouth across the ball of Steve’s shoulder. It relaxes under his lips, and Billy lingers there until he’s sure Steve isn’t upset. When Billy lifts his head, Steve meets him halfway for that kiss he’d wanted. It’s a brief affair, lippy and heads bobbing to chase each other. Steve meeting his eyes when they part is a breath of fresh air for both, and they sigh as one. 

“I mean it, Steve. I’m sorry.”

Nodding, Steve darts down to kiss Billy’s cheek. It means more than words can say. 

“It’s okay”—it’s not, but Billy keeps quiet—“so, um… do you still wanna…?”

“Of course,” Billy says all sweet, voice grinning with his mouth. “Only if you still want to.”

Steve nods wildly, so grateful for anything that will deliver them away from this fucking landmine Steve just stepped on. 

“I-I do, I want you.” His cheeks pink again as he adds, “I wanna make you feel good.”

Billy must be rubbing off on him if Steve is so honest about it. Sure, Steve squirms when he says it, but he still manages to get it out. So that’s something. 

Billy returns Steve’s cheek kiss and then crawls up to the headboard. The pillows are all for him as he makes a comfortable mound of them to prop up his upper body. This way, he’ll have full access to Steve once they’re positioned the way Billy wants. Billy settles on his ass and then shimmies and scoots back until his collection of pillows touches his back. Steve just watches him carefully, obviously no clue how he’s meant to position his body. It’s easier than Steve thinks, their similar heights making the process that much smoother.

Billy nods to the vibrators, lube, and condoms while patting his thighs. 

“Okay, baby, climb up. And bring all that with you.”

Frowning, Steve mutters, “Why do you get to be the one who lies down?”

An eyebrow flicks up at him. 

“You said you wanted to blow me. It’s easier for the person on top.”

“How?” Steve huffs. Such a brat. 

“Because you don’t have to worry about me shoving my cock down your throat and choking on it,” he says like he’s talking about the weather. “Spit follows gravity. It’s easier to blow a guy when you’re not fighting all the spit gathering in the back of your throat. You’ll thank me, I promise.”

Steve must be partially convinced. His pout softens some as he asks, “How am I supposed to… like do this? I don’t wanna hit you in the face with my dick.”

“I mean,” Billy says with a laugh, “your ass is gonna be in my face regardless. You’re lucky I hate the taste of dental dams or I’d eat you out.”

If Steve gets any redder, Billy might show some concern. Maybe. 

Steve’s voice does a funny thing, warbling a little, when he says, “Oh yea, sure, just say that like it’s nothing. Real cool, Billy.”

“I speak simple truths.” Billy pats the bed on either side of his sloped torso. “So, what I’d recommend you do, mostly to prevent you from kicking me on accident, is to sit on your knees by my waist, turn around, hike a leg over me, and then scoot back. I’ll guide you at that point. Oh and hand me all that stuff so it doesn’t go all over the damn place.”

Steve hands off their accessories for this endeavor with his blush still healthy on his cheeks. 

“This is gonna be fuckin weird with my ass in your face,” Steve mumbles mostly to himself, talking himself down like he does. 

“Yep, that’s it. Now turn around… uh huh…” Billy keeps his hands up in front of him, ready to block Steve’s foot should he swing wide. “Carefully, yea like that.”

Steve faces away from him, shins flat to the bed with Billy between. Billy gets Steve by his thighs, bending forward to reach, and squeezes. A wicked grin tears across his face when Steve jumps and then immediately settles into his hands. Trusting. 

“Okay, now shuffle back. You won’t hurt me, baby doll, come on back and get cozy with me.”

“Oh my god,” Steve groans. His flush is starting to creep up the back of his neck, pairing nicely with his sunburn. 

Steve wobbles on his knees and eventually falls forward to catch himself on his hands. Billy bites his lower lip while watching Steve get comfortable, finds Steve’s dick swinging cute rather than hilarious. Ah, fucking condoms. They take away the rare pleasure of playing with an uncut cock. Billy huffs and almost wishes he were a bad person. Almost. In his wildest fantasies, of course they don’t use condoms. Maybe one day it won’t be so dangerous. 

“Billy?” Steve peeks over his shoulder, huddled and embarrassed. “Is this right?”

Billy shakes himself and takes to petting his hands up and down the backs of Steve’s thighs. 

“Beautiful, baby, that’s great. Get down on your elbows so you can reach. Don’t worry about putting your weight on me. It’s fine.” He pinches the delicate underside of Steve’s ass. “I wanna feel you on top of me.”

“Hey!” Steve wiggles like he can get away. Billy pinches him again. “Asshole!”

“Yours is looking delicious, by the way.”

Steve groans, hanging his head. 

“You’re making me wish you liked the taste of whatever it was you said. I’m insanely curious now.”

“Dental dam,” Billy corrects. He pets Steve’s cheeks until the pretty boy starts to shake, biting his lip through noises. “It’s like really wet fingers. But warmer and so much better.” 

Steve groans again, this time less exasperated and more mournful. Billy would lament he won’t be the first one to do that to Steve, but he’d rather not ride the roller coaster of sadness yet again. Instead, he crunches and darts forward to kiss a cheek instead. Consolation. 

He goes back to running his hands up and down Steve’s thighs. Sometimes he’s wicked and draws his nails over them, rakes them higher over the globes of Steve’s ass. He does it to warm Steve up but also to just watch him quiver. Billy considers teasing Steve until his cock is wet, but his greed is mightier than that. Billy pinches the other cheek from before and then reaches down his body for their supplies. 

“Baby? You with me?”

Steve’s shoulder won’t stay out of his ears, but he manages a nod. He shuffles to return blood flow to his knees and elbows. He already knows he’s gonna end up with his back bowed, ass in the air. At least Billy will enjoy it. 

“Baby?”

“Y-yea?”

“You wanna grab the rest of this?” Billy crinkles condoms together to attract Steve’s attention. Still he whips his head around both ways. Adorable. “We have lube and two kinds of condoms here. See how the colorful foils are smaller than the silver ones?”

Steve hums. 

“The silver ones are for our dicks. The colorful ones are for the vibrators.”

“You need condoms for sex toys?”

Poor country boy. 

“If you share them with multiple partners, yes. You can’t clean these as thoroughly as you should for bareback. So if you’re gonna use the vibe on me, slap a rubber on it. And use lube.”

Steve nods and then asks quietly, “Do you want me to?”

It’s Billy’s turn to shiver. His body already tingles like the vibrator is inside him. He’s just short of curling his toes. 

“Absolutely, baby. My body is yours to play with, remember?”

Steve nods again, heat in his ears and pouring down his neck. He doesn’t mean to sway on his knees, stops as soon as he realizes what Billy will see. 

“Um… are you gonna use one on me?”

Billy’s hands still where he fiddles with said vibe, testing its speeds and modes. 

“Only if you say yes. Otherwise, no dice, lover boy.”

Down the speckled-length of Steve’s back, Billy watches those slim shoulders quiver. 

“Yes,” he whispers, and then louder, “I want you.”

“We’ll get started real soon. I promise.” Billy crinkles a silver foil between his fingers. “I assume you know how to put a condom on?”

Never on any penis other than his, but it can’t be rocket science. 

“Duh,” Steve huffs with a laugh. “You think Nancy has sex with me without a condom?”

“She shouldn’t, you’re a fucking animal.”

There’s a pun in there somewhere, but Steve isn’t sure. Instead, he drops his head down to bite at Billy’s upper thigh. That earns him a flinch and an eager whine from Billy. Billy likes to be bitten as much as he likes to bite. They’re chew toys for each other. What Billy cannot reach with his teeth, his fingers take their revenge, one-upping Steve with a small pinch to his inner thigh. Tit for tat. 

“Billy,” Steve grunts through a hiss. 

“Oh, you can start touching me whenever you want, baby. Were you waiting for an invitation?”

Steve’s whine is petulant and put-out. Bratty. Billy considers very seriously smacking a cheek instead of pinching. But he’s already warm and buzzing from the prospect of fucking Steve with the vibrator, refuses to derail them now. Not when he finally has Steve comfortable above him and ready. 

“Oh and Steve?”

“Yea?”

“I really hope I don’t have to tell you to mind your damn teeth. For so many reasons.”

“Yea, yea,” Steve sighs. “I’m still sorry about that. I didn’t mean to.”

Even referring to the almost-accident last night makes Billy’s dick hurt. And not in a good way. 

“I know,” he says while finally ripping open a yellow foil. “I trust you, Steve.”

It’s probably been implied since the beginning. Steve knows that. To hear it, though? Steve lowers his chest to touch Billy, presses his lips to the spot on Billy’s thigh where he’d just bitten him. In return, Billy rubs gentle fingers over his retaliatory pinch. Steve bites his lower lip and dares to spread his knees wider apart, giving more of himself to Billy. His body is Billy’s to play with, too. Billy knows that. 

“Ready?” Billy rumbles behind him. “I’m gonna start with the vibrator. Just touching you with it, nothing in you yet.”

The pit of Steve’s stomach throbs. He wants that so bad, manages a hushed, “Want you, Billy.”

It’s all the pleading and encouragement Billy needs. Vibe abandoned back to the bed to free his hands, Billy’s right pries perfect cheeks open. Billy’s left flicks the cap of the lube, letting just a small drop drool out and land on Steve’s hole. Steve gives him the little flinch Billy wants. A little noise, excited. Billy just as quickly trades everything in his hands until he has the vibe once more. The small, unlubed condoms are perfect for these. He’ll be kind and start Steve on the lowest setting. Despite how he wants to be a little mean. 

Steve hears the motor whir before Billy brings the tip to his body. Right where the lube threatens to dribble down his ass. Steve startles on his elbows, fingers picking at a silver foil. He almost tears the fucking thing as Billy immediately starts to rub back and forth, even, slow. It’s a rhythm Steve can work with, rocking a little on his knees. He must forget his shame, which will be easier once he has Billy hard and the condom on. At least this way he gets to touch Billy directly. It gives him time to fondle and squeeze, to experiment with a cock other than his. 

Billy likes different things than Steve. His nerves are different, quite literally with the circumcision and everything. Billy’s pretty, breathy moans come tripping from his mouth when fingers or lips pop over the crown of his head. The condom dulls it of course, but Billy’s strong hands had turned weak in Steve’s hair when he did it the first time. Billy is fine with Steve holding his mouth open and Billy doing all the work. Just fucking the first inch or two between Steve’s lips. Steve thinks maybe he prefers that, too. At least when he’s the one blowing. When Billy’s mouth is on him, it’s a wild ride. 

Talented and familiar, Billy always swallows him down so well. Lips and tongue tight around Steve’s tip, and then pressure still tight when Billy takes him deep, hums with his mouth full. The condom is again a problem, especially when Billy gags at the taste. After, he’d promised so many times that normally he was better than that. That without a condom he would be flawless. Or if they used some flavored lube or something.

But the condoms are important, essential in keeping them safe. Steve blows a cool stream of air over the pink head of Billy’s cock—growing darker with blood all the time. He toys with Billy now while he can, thick flesh caught in the circle of Steve’s fist. Any immature superiority he would feel about being longer than Billy snuffs out under the fact that Billy is thicker. And Steve shudders, rocks back on the vibrations against his hole. It’s almost as good as when Billy’s fingers spear him open. Spreading him. Steve tightens against latex rubbing slick over his hole, tingling jolts from the toy exciting him. He wants it in him. 

“Steve,” Billy sighs, happy. “I think I’m hard enough, pretty boy. I bet I’m leaking on your fingers.”

It should be terrible that Steve wants to bow his head and lap at that moisture. He won’t. He just wants to so badly. Not for the taste, fuck no, just to hear Billy. Billy’s moans and probably Billy saying filthy, disgusting things to him. Never in Steve’s wildest dreams would he have imagined he would love Billy’s trash mouth while they’re fucking. His words are genuine, never abusive or humiliating. It’s the praise, Steve knows. The praise feeds the ravenous, burning pit at the bottom of his belly. 

Earlier, Steve had picked at the edges of a silver foil for a reason. So that way, when he was ready and needed to slip one on Billy, he wouldn’t waste precious time fumbling with it. There’s lube on the inside of it, and according to Billy it makes protected sex feel a little more like bareback. Steve doesn’t get it, but anything to make Billy feel good. He grins a little while drawing the condom over that terribly sensitive head, ears burning with Billy’s stuttered breath, the twitch in the cock between Steve’s hands. 

“Steve, baby,” Billy pants behind him, picking up his rhythm between Steve’s cheeks. “Need you so bad, need your pretty lips on me, Steve, wanna fuck your wet mouth…”

He continues on like that, mindless to how deep the scarlet blooms on Steve’s cheeks. Only Steve’s muted kiss through the condom rips Billy’s words to shreds, has him flinching and accidentally pressing the vibrator harder between Steve’s cheeks. It doesn’t go in, just bullies the blunt tip to Steve’s sensitive rim. High gasps cut through Billy’s groan and let him know he’s found a good spot. One that will make Steve squirm, will make his pretty cock weep. Billy stares with hazy eyes as precome beads up sticky and clear, drooling off Steve to fall on Billy’s chest. 

That’s it, he can’t take it anymore. Billy keeps his left hand firm around the base of the vibrator as he snakes the right over and around Steve’s thigh. He wants to be able to watch Steve’s cock thrust through his fingers, can’t if he squeezes that arm between Steve’s legs. Billy gets rough fingertips rubbing over the head, gathering slick fluid. He doesn’t mean to mimic Steve’s warm lips on his own cock below, but that’s what it feels like. Steve shakes above him and goes sliding on his knees to seek more contact with Billy’s hand. Billy lets him go only for a second, only long enough to twist the controls on the vibe higher. Stronger. 

“How is it, baby?”

Steve’s mouth pops with a gasp and he pleads against Billy’s dick, “More, please more, fuck me Billy, I-I want you so bad, hah…”

Billy holds the vibrator right to Steve’s entrance again, rocking a little like he’ll push in. His right hand scrambles for the lube. Steve needs more if they’re going to put something in him. His rocking motions between Steve’s cheeks pause long enough for Billy to drizzle more lube—probably too much. 

“Will you do the same for me, Steve? Can you fuck me, too?”

Steve mouths a sloppy kiss to Billy’s dick and then sits up a little. His hands go slapping out for the forgotten vibe, the lube, and condoms. Under him, Billy gives a little hop. His weight shifts and his legs splay to give Steve access. Steve has a condom over the vibrator before he hesitates, wonders how he’ll keep his balance while blowing and fucking Billy at the same time. 

“You okay? I promise you won’t hurt me, just get it slick and push it inside me. The base will help keep it in, you can just leave it.” Billy shivers under him, toes curling where his legs stretch out. “I just wanna feel you push it into me. I can pretend it’s you instead.”

That has Steve’s blood roaring in his ears. Jesus, he loves Billy’s filthy words. His honesty. His hands tremble where he rushes to slap lube all up and down the toy. Clean fingers are ready at the base to turn it in. 

“What, um, what speed, babe?”

Billy’s face cracks in a fond smile. Steve calling him a pet name. It’s the cutest thing he’s ever heard. 

“Three, baby, I can take it. You’re gonna come real fast when I get inside you.”

Steve shudders, prays, “Yes,” and turns the vibe to Billy’s setting. Three is so intense in his hands, and Steve doesn’t know how Billy can take it. Steve twists the toy back off, wanting to wait until it’s in Billy to turn it so high. Billy doesn’t stop him, just shuffles his thighs a little farther apart when Steve guides the wet tip down, down, and then firm against Billy’s entrance. 

“Just like that. You’re so good to me, pretty boy, give it to me, let me feel you Steve…”

Billy’s praise coats Steve in warmth. He bows his head to rub his lips over Billy’s cock while pushing the toy in him. Billy’s hips shake, bumping his shaft against Steve’s lips. Steve’s head fills with haze. He rocks back against the other vibrator still firm and bossy at his hole. The one in Steve’s hand is fully inside Billy, glide snug but smooth. Steve needs only to turn it on. 

Steve’s lips are messy when he pleads, “Billy, d-do it. Inside. Please, I want it.”

A twist and two adjustments ignites the waiting ache inside Billy. He gasps Steve’s name, makes a sloppy grab for his pretty cock again. It takes monumental effort for Billy to pull himself out of that buzzing sensation powerful at his rim and spreading deeper in him and remember to do the same to Steve. A single, blue eye stays open as the other closes, stinging with moisture. He has to watch Steve take the vibe all the way, has to watch Steve shake apart. 

Whining and rubbing himself on the toy, Steve shoves Billy back in his mouth. Deeper than before to coax Billy to hurry. The blushing head bumps the roof of his mouth. Billy must like it, must take his words as begging enough. Billy’s right hand loose and casual around Steve tightens just as the pressure at his hole increases. More and more until it’s too much and his wet rim welcomes the rumbling toy just inside him.

“Mmm!”

It’s all Steve can manage with his mouth stretched around Billy. Billy gives him an answering call with Steve’s moan making this so much better. They could spend all night matching each other’s noises, building off one another until their shouts bring down the walls. Distantly, Steve is thankful Billy had wanted him on top. That leaves Steve the freedom to rock the toy deeper and then rut his cock into Billy’s hand. And then Billy filling his mouth on top of all that. Every desire of Steve’s is met. He’s never been so full, so close to blissful pleasure before. Billy does that to him. 

Steve jumping and then coming in little spurts between Billy’s fingers doesn’t surprise Billy at all. He’d made no attempt at finding Steve’s prostate, knew Steve’s body would lose itself to the low rumbling of the vibe’s motor. It’s only on the second setting, but Steve spills on Billy’s chest with sweet sound stuffed in the back of his mouth. Billy’s cock takes up the rest of Steve’s mouth where his lips and tongue still move around Billy. Steve isn’t done with him yet. 

Billy makes it a point to slip the vibe out of Steve, to keep playing with the wet head of his cock instead. His fingers find the velvety edge of taut foreskin and tug it down, rolling to swallow up Steve’s overstimulated head. Billy holds his fist tight there just to feel Steve’s pitiful whimpers around his cock. They’re high-pitched and so sweet. All for him. Billy stops trying to bottle his sounds at that point. He wants to pant with Steve and mix their needy sounds together. 

“Gonna come, baby, you’re so tight around me, so deep I feel you in my throat.” Billy’s head falls back from watching lube shine between Steve’s cheeks. “Steve, Steve, need you, keep g-going, Jesus Steve, baby I lo—”

Steve’s ears burn as Billy lets out a shout. Steve clings to the duvet while Billy bucks into his mouth, trying to drive his cock deep while he comes. Steve takes a breath and forces his slick mouth down to the edge of the condom. Billy is impossibly thick in the back of his mouth. Steve’s head spins to think maybe Billy is deep enough to go down his throat. A spasm of Steve’s mouth, though, from Billy playing cruel games with the sopping head of his dick has him pulling back lest he choke. Steve pops off again with one last tight draw of his lips over Billy’s head. Below, wedged between Billy’s cheeks, the vibrator still rumbles. Still on the third speed. 

Billy is a shaking mess under him, not talking, each breath a struggle. Steve scrambles to reach down and turn the toy off. Billy gives a gasp when it ends. His right hand shakes when he peels it away from Steve’s cock. Finally done playing with it. Steve is burning and tingling head-to-toe while he glances over his shoulder. He is sore in new ways. He does not regret, because Billy has done this to him. For Billy, he would suffer so much worse pain. 

Legs and hands still twitching, Billy is in no shape to pick up. To clean them up. Steve stumbles on weak legs when he tumbles to the edge of the bed, stands after a breath or two. Steve carefully turns back to the bed and reaches for the toys, the unused condoms, lube. A rush of embarrassment colors his ears when he almost forgets the condom on Billy. Steve tries not to make a mess while pulling it off, tying the end. He needs to wash his hands and a few other places anyway, so a trip to the bathroom is inevitable. 

He lingers at the bed, though, just watching Billy come down. Beautiful and face peaceful, only trembling now when he inhales. Steve’s skin still tingles, too. Every rub of Steve’s thighs has his bottom twinging. It remembers well the weight and narrow girth of the toy. Billy is thicker than that. Steve quivers on his feet and has to lean both arms into the bed when he imagines the ache that would leave behind. 

Stirring on the bed, shoulders shrugging and body already stretching, Billy murmurs, “Babe?”

“I-I’m here, Billy.” Steve reaches to the center of the bed to draw long fingers down Billy’s jaw. “I’m cleaning us up. You can sleep, if you want.”

Billy hums and rolls onto his font, maybe cold. Blue eyes open so clear, like standing in the ocean and looking down to see your legs. He’s beautiful. Blissed and fucked out. Steve wonders if this is what he looks like to Billy. 

A smile on that cupid’s bow and then, “Baby, you wore me out so fast. Haven’t felt that good in so long.” Billy stretches again. Something pops in his back. Like two boulders knocking into each other. “Needed that so bad, thank you, Steve. You were”—a yawn—“perfect. Mine.”

Steve’s heart twists until it hurts, but he manages a strangled, “Yours.”

It’s all he can do to throw a knee up on the bed and stretch for Billy. He nudges Billy’s head up just a little to slot their mouths together. Tension slips out of Steve immediately. He’s so lonely during sex without someone to kiss. It’s a terrible thing. But a few messy, lazy kisses with Billy wash all that sourness away. They separate only because Billy yawns again. He fights sleep just to stay with Steve. 

“I should… get up. Help you,” Billy slurs with his eyes closed, cheek smashed into the pillow. 

“Don’t worry about it.”

Steve means it with his voice going thick. He’ll be back soon enough to wrap himself around Billy. Probably until they wake again, untangle with tender caresses, and then fill each other’s needs again. It’s all they’ve done since that storm had chased them from the beach. Steve has no idea when Billy needs to go home. When Billy needs to leave Frankie’s apartment period. Maybe they can make the most of the summer they have left together. Steve wants to make the most of it, memorize all he can of Billy. While he can. 

Everything is clear from the bed, Steve refilling the water cups in the kitchen, when Frankie’s landline rings. The shriek of it startles Steve, almost sends the glass shattering on the floor when he loses his grip. Somehow he saves it, doesn’t make a huge mess. The bedroom is quiet with the door wide open. Billy doesn’t rise in a pissy mood to turn the ringer off. It’s something Billy would do, and Steve smiles in the direction of the bedroom when the ringing ends and the machine picks it up. 

The prerecorded message plays, Frankie’s softened drawl apologizing and asking for messages, promising to call them back. That bothers Steve in a terrible way, and he casts a sad look around the apartment. Billy hasn’t mentioned Frankie since visiting him. Steve wonders how he’s doing… 

The tape beeps, and then a bratty girl whispers hushed, “Billy, call home as soon as you can. Your dad is going fucking ballistic, tearing the house apart screaming about you. Don’t come home, just call me, jerk.”

Steve stares at the machine, red light blinking like a death sentence, long after Max hangs up. And still Billy does not stir. Steve goes back to him numb, welcomes Billy without thought under his chin when Billy cuddles close. Even as Billy drifts off warm and soft in his arms, Steve stares at the open bedroom door. His ears wait for the screaming peal of the phone, waits for it to come and take his Billy away. 


	17. Steve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On their last day together, Billy and Steve watch 4th of July fireworks on the beach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It does not get any easier after this. Home is behind, the world ahead.

He hadn’t told Billy about the message when they woke, but Billy checked the machine for the new message anyway. After that, face annoyed and attitude turned to high, Billy urged them to throw clothes on so he could take Steve back to the hotel. 

“Just in case my old man really is having a fit and I can’t sneak out until later,” he promised with Steve not even out of the Camaro yet. “I’ll see you tonight or tomorrow. We’ll go take a drive or something, I’ll figure it out.”

A smile and then he drove away. 

That was Wednesday afternoon. Thursday came and went like nails on a chalkboard, only the person never raised their hand. Just kept scratching. 

Steve feels it even now, in his teeth, as he lies on the hotel bed, staring at the ceiling and sweating through the clothes he’d slept in. The windows are shut, AC on that precarious temperature setting where it doesn’t kick on until you’re about to go crazy from the heat. If he thinks about the sweat on his neck, crawling down to touch the collar of his shirt, he’ll definitely go crazy. 

Tonight, a huge fireworks display is planned for the 4th. July 4th had actually passed on Wednesday, but rain ruined any celebrations. Friday is just as good, maybe even better for a big turn out…

The heat won’t be as intense here as it is in Hawkins. Families covered in a sheen of sweat at carnivals, firework shows. All glowing under the explosion of colors. Steve twists the sheets under him and wishes he and Billy could go somewhere like that. And maybe in the safety of the dark, Billy would turn to him and kiss him under the light show. 

On this last day of theirs, though, his parents want to have lunch together. Steve would feel bad about not doing anything with them during vacation, but… They don’t exactly make an effort to connect with him. It’s not different than Hawkins and them being away all the time. Spending money with a note. Steve left to his own devices. So lunch today is going to be incredibly awkward. Steve isn’t sure he can stomach anything. 

Plus what if Billy calls while they’re away? Hopefully he leaves a message with the front desk or something. Not that Steve has a number to call back. Or an address to hitch a ride out to. Billy could be worlds away, and Steve wouldn’t have a clue. 

The restaurant by the beach is touristy and picturesque with great views. Exactly what Steve expects when he sits across from his parents at a huge bay window. A dark patch of water crashing between waves holds Steve’s attention as his parents talk at him. He knows now it’s a rip current. Tuesday, Billy had taught him how to see them. They’re not always so obvious like the one Steve watches now. And sure enough, everyone on the beach steers clear of them. 

Steve watches the beach and allows every emotion to pass through him like sand through fingers. His mouth ticks up in an automatic smile when his parents ask him things, and he fires off the automatic responses that accompany that smile. It reminds him of the terrible conversation he still needs to have with them. About college. About his life. 

“Hey uh… mom? Dad? Can I… Can we, like, talk?”

They finish trading comments on something and turn to him with smiles. No concern. Like they’re props on a stage. Props in his life.

He can’t do it. 

“How, uh… how did you guys like the country club?”

His voice rises unnaturally high at the end of the question. But they’re eager to reminisce over the details, comparing the one here to the one they frequent in Chicago. Where they’re members. Steve hasn’t seen the condo there since middle school. They’ve probably turned the guest room he used into something else. It blows him away that at one point they pleaded and tried to persuade him to just leave the house in Hawkins and live in Chicago. With them. He’ll never regret the decision to stay home. Maybe he would have never met Billy, if things were different. 

Wanting things to be different has never gotten him far. He’s a fool to even try, to even consider it. When he thinks of things working out differently with Billy, his chest hurts. Steve berates himself while staring at his uneaten lunch. Why couldn’t he just ignore the thrill that ran through him every time he looked at Billy? Before that day on the beach, Steve never looked at a guy twice. Certainly not like how he looks at Billy. He’s come to terms with that, still can’t help but wonder why him. Everything was going… mostly okay, in the grand scheme of things. Nightmares and nerves aside, he was fine. He and Nancy were fine. Everything was fine. 

When the meal is over, Steve’s food left at the table, he returns to the hotel room. His parents split, which is such a relief that Steve just flops face-first onto the bed and lies there a moment. There hadn’t been any messages when they got back in. Billy didn’t call him. Steve groans into the cloud of the hotel pillow and thumps his feet on the bed. Now is when time chooses to crawl. It was carefree and eager to steamroll him to Saturday morning—tomorrow—but now wants to drag out his suffering. 

“Screw this,” Steve hisses, punching the pillow once he sits up. 

At night in Hawkins, he drives away from his fears. He’ll take his fancy, luxury car all around and just drive to not think about anything. When he doesn’t want to burn the gas, he walks. That feels less safe, but he pushes the envelope for himself. The monster is dead. It can’t hurt him. He usually always ends up sprinting back to his car or the house with rancid breath on the back of his neck and water gurgling in the trees. It’s broad daylight outside. So he goes for a walk to run away from his thoughts. 

The monster would have a fucking field day here, Steve decides quickly. He wanders around in shorts and a thin t-shirt, hands in his pockets and sandals smacking his feet loudly with each step. People are a little crazy here, though, as he watches a guy chase a seagull with a hotdog in its mouth, pilfered. So it would have a field day, but it’s reign of terror would be short lived. He wonders if the seagulls would eat it, or maybe its flesh would be too foreign, too rotting for them. Who knows. 

As he wanders along the sidewalk, trying to keep his head high in the clouds, a car backfires just before it rolls up alongside him. In the passenger seat, Diamond waves long fingers hello at him. 

“Well hey there, honey. We hoped we’d find you around the beach.”

‘We’ meaning Miguel in the driver’s seat and Tyrone lounging in the back, arms and legs free to take up all the room. A little smoke breaks over Steve’s face, delicate like wiping dust off a broken picture frame. Steve takes a stumbling step towards the car—a beat up Chevy with the wheel wells rusted out—and leans on Diamond’s window. 

“Hey, yea, my hotel is right there.” Steve thumbs over his shoulder. “What’s up? If you’re looking for Billy, he’s not with me.”

“Oh, we know,” Tyrone calls from the back. All the windows are down, radio turned low. The subwoofer is blown out. “That’s why we’re here.”

Diamond is dramatic when he lays the back of his hand across his forehead, simpers, “It’s so awful how that bastard treats my little Billy.” He relaxes and angles an annoyed look up at Steve. “Billy’s father took Billy’s keys away and threatened to have his car crushed at a junkyard if he snuck out again.”

Steve’s heart falls. 

“That… that didn’t happen, did it? Is Billy okay?”

Diamond must realize his mistake, reaches through the open window to take one of Steve’s hands. He pets it like someone might a kitten. 

“Oh no, honey, he’s okay. Raging mad and probably popping a blood vessel right now, but he’s okay. He wanted us to deliver a message to you.” Diamond winks. “And we shall carry any and all replies back to the poor prince locked in his tower.”

Heh. King Steve. Prince Billy. Steve licks away the smile that wants to split his lips. Not now. He shakes himself and stutters, “Uh-uh yea, cool. What did he wanna tell me?”

Diamond holds Steve’s hand flat between both of his and waxes, “That he misses you and wishes he could see you sooner today, but that it’ll have to wait until the fireworks on the beach tonight. If you’ll have him.”

Tyrone dashes the flutter in Steve’s stomach when he laughs, “He didn’t say all that. He said he’s bringing Max here tonight and wants to meet up with you.”

Diamond huffs and finally drops Steve’s hand. 

“It was implied, my dear Tyronious, they’re in love!”

“Do not start on that Tyronious shit again, Diamond, I swear to god—”

“Will you be there?”

Tyrone and Diamond immediately halt their bickering to first stare at Miguel and then Steve. Waiting. 

The shock of Miguel speaking cuts through Steve’s brain caught up on ‘they’re in love!’ He can’t think about that right now, has to focus on this right now. Steve has never heard Miguel speak. It’s a soft voice, thick accent, but the words are clear. 

Steve has to try a few times to get his mouth to work. Billy…

“Yes,” he says softly, and then again after a shake, “Yea, hell yea, I’ll be there. I’ll wait all night if I have to.”

Diamond and Tyrone share a glance. A smile. Steve wants to cover his face so they can’t look at him and tell how bad he has it for Billy. Oops. 

'They’re in love!'

The Chevy spits blue smoke out the tailpipe when Diamond coos, “We’ll motor right back to him and let him know.” Miguel takes off when the traffic breaks, and Diamond hollers, hanging out the window, “Good luck, Stevie!”

Steve runs until an intersection cuts him off, cups his hands over his mouth, and shouts, “Tell him I miss him, too!”

Diamond waves out the window and then slips back into the car, Miguel taking a hard left to circle back into town. Steve stands at the crosswalk with his chest heaving until the Chevy is long gone. He should have asked to climb in the back with Tyrone and go with them. Maybe. Steve imagines what sort of parent would obviously taunt and humiliate their child like that, though, and is glad he hadn’t gone. He can’t keep his mouth shut around people who piss him off. He remembers the hard line of Jonathan’s knuckles across his eye, over his nose, his mouth. Yea, it’s better he didn’t go. 

But now with Billy’s promise in his head—they’re in love!—Steve scrambles to run back to the hotel. He needs a shower, needs to fix his hair, needs to tidy up. It’s their last night. Wherever they end up, the hotel, Frankie’s, anywhere, Steve wants everything to be perfect. Steve wonders with a little heat if Billy will finally do what he’s teased all along. Fuck him, or let him fuck Billy. Jesus, he wants that hot like burning. Whining, Steve chews on his lower lip all while huffing impatiently in the elevator and then nearly sprinting down the hall. 

Steve jerking off in the shower is a little shameless, but his parents hadn’t come back, so fuck it. He strains on his toes, smearing his blushing cheek on the shower tiles with two fingers crooked inside him. From the front this time, hand dipping under his balls to do it how Billy did. It’s awkward with hotel conditioner slick between his cheeks, legs bowed a little so Steve can reach. But it’s all worth it when he just barely swipes the pad of his middle finger over that spot that makes him quiver. 

“Billy,” Steve hisses between his teeth, staring down with water dripping off him to watch his cock gush in his right hand. “Billy, Billy, mmm…”

It’s good like finally scratching an itch he couldn’t reach before. It’s not earth-shattering, though. He needs Billy here for that, needs Billy’s warmth and all that power, that voice murmuring things to make him blush. So although it’s good, Steve doesn’t try too hard to chase an orgasm like Billy gives him. That would be silly. He comes satisfied and groaning down the drain. It takes the edge off. Helps gloss over his impending sadness. 

Steve keeps busy instead of dwelling on it. He has a few hours before nightfall. Before Billy arrives and they spend one more night together. Before tomorrow morning comes, Steve has to pry Billy’s number or at least his address out of him. Something. He refuses to leave this summer behind him and just write Billy off as a thing. A casual thing; an unimportant thing. Diamond’s flamboyant voice rings in Steve’s ears as he sorts through his clothes for something to wear tonight. 

'They’re in love!'

Covering his face and cupping a groan, Steve flops on the bed. Diamond just had to hit the nail on the head, huh? He never loved anyone before Nancy, sort of thought he would never love anyone after her. Because there would be no ‘after,’ just him and Nancy. It’s a thought he keeps to himself, keeps it safe and away from the taunting jeers at school. If anyone knew how deeply he can feel about other people… Well, he’d probably be labeled a fag like Jonathan and little Will… 

That just conjures images of Billy wild and snarling, backing up faceless hicks from his school into lockers and going to town on them. Body in perfect sync all up and down, muscles firing and power behind every movement. And yea, it’s a little hot imagining Billy throwing a punch, hand solid steel in someone’s cheek. Steve had actually punched Billy… so long ago, it seems. Last week. Steve clasps his right hand tightly in his left and blinks up at the ceiling, lip in his teeth. 

He can’t let Billy go. It’s like he’s falling in love with Nancy all over again. Finally tipping her chin up, feeling the divot in it for the first time while he’d traded that first kiss. Wanting her so much and going crazy thinking about her. Puppy love at first, that’s just how he is, until is just… wasn’t that. Anymore. He can’t pinpoint an exact moment when the change happened. Just like with Billy. His heart crushes under the weight of so much unknown. All he knows is that he can’t let Billy go. 

Sundown cannot come fast enough. Steve gives up waiting by the phone, gives up pacing the hotel room and peeking out the windows every other fucking second. The ocean breeze whips around when Steve bursts outside and waits in front of the hotel. Waiting. Waiting, waiting, for the rumble of the Camaro that will send his spirit soaring. He keeps his eyes alert for a flash of blue, those familiar headlights and surely the grinning mouth just behind the windshield. 

Of course, Steve has to stop himself from breaking into a sweetheart smile and running to the Camaro when it appears. Billy has forgone his jacket tonight for just a tight, tucked t-shirt and pale jeans. His arms are out and beautiful where they stretch the sleeves, so strong and tempting… Oh, his nipples pebble through the straining cotton… 

Steve sweats a little when he meets Max’s eyes just behind Billy. Max is inside, looking less annoyed than usual. She even lifts her chin to acknowledge Steve clambering into the car. Ah, but he wants to reach over and kiss Billy so badly. Wants to run his fingers through Billy’s hair, wants to feel Billy’s laugh in his throat, against his lips. They… may sit with the engine idling longer than necessary. It’s like Billy knows what he’s feeling, what he wants to do. 

“Uh… are we going or not?”

The boys share a small grin, and then the Camaro squeals back into traffic, horn from someone blaring far behind them. 

“Where are we going, ba-uh, Billy?”

Billy’s hands tighten on the wheel a little. His soul cries out for Steve’s affection, but they both know they can’t. Not with Max here. Steve’s wince is sheepish, a quiet sorry. Billy isn’t mad. They just need to be careful. 

“There’s a carnival set up farther up the beach. Tomorrow is the last day, so I’m taking Max.”

Steve doesn’t need to know Billy had told Max to ask dad and Susan if she could go. Because they both know dad will volunteer Billy for taxi duty. And… she actually played along. Maybe she knows how happy Steve makes him. He’s nicer because of Steve. She knows he’s leaving tomorrow morning, knows this is Billy’s last chance. And for Max, dad will do anything. So, he lifted Billy’s imprisonment on the condition he takes Max to the carnival and watches her. The siblings know there’s a fat chance of Billy doing any such ‘watching.’ Max will tear off from them the exact moment tickets for rides and other bullshit graze her little palms. All according to plan. 

And maybe when they pull up, Billy gives her most of the tickets for rides and games. He pockets a few for him and Steve to goof off with. Billy dumps the orange things in her hands, keeps an eye on red hair bouncing as she jumps, clutching the tickets in her hand. She meets his eyes without a glare or scowl, actually smiles at him. 

“Meet back at the car after the fireworks. Do not run off,” he says sternly. Not as mean as he could be. 

Max has a little less attitude when she groans, “Okay,” and then turns on sneakers to run. 

“And don’t be late! I gotta have you back by 11!”

It’s 8, now. That gives them a few hours to enjoy whatever they want. The front left pocket of Billy’s jeans is heavy with keys, smokes, lighter. Inside the Newports box, he has a little extra nestled alongside the white paper of the cigarettes. He’s not sure if Steve will take him up on getting high—just a little, just to make this place a little less grating on their nerves—but he’ll certainly partake. If only to remember Steve in a cascade of colors and feelings that become those colors, meld in Billy’s eyes until he experiences Steve with every sense. 

Smirk liquid and easy on his face, Billy offers his arm like a gentleman and murmurs, “Where to first, baby?”

Steve grins through biting his lower lip. Instead of taking Billy up on his offered arm, Steve throws his own across Billy’s shoulders. Like they’re real chummy together. They laugh in each other’s faces over how ridiculous it is. The only reason people look at them, their bodies completely sealed where Steve holds them, is because of their boisterous laughter. Boys will be boys. Even if neither of them tries to shove the other away or play it off. Steve’s extra inch of height makes the drape of his arm a little easier. Natural. He’d give anything for it to be safe enough for Billy to sling an arm low across his back and hold him, too. But he knows better. 

“I don’t know…” Steve sighs like he has to actually think about it. “How do you feel about summer carnival rides?”

“The faster the better.”

Like at every carnival, there’s an awful ride that spins them like test tubes in a lab and flattens them to the inside of the ride. Billy would call it a vomit comet. Steve laughs at the suggestion and corrects him, calling it a ‘tilt-o-whirl,’ whatever the hell that’s supposed to be. They nearly race each other to get there faster. They know in all the chaos they can probably hold hands, laugh together under the guise of terror and fun. Their heads end up touching, and they’re powerless to separate. Neither would dream of it in the first place. 

After that it’s some rickety gondola ride that actually manages to spin people upside down at the height of its speed and cycle. Steve is the one who has to elbow and wheedle Billy into releasing the lap bar and put his hands up. Billy slaps a hand to his pocket to stop all his shit from falling out, but otherwise he indulges Steve. Heart and stomach warring in his throat, Billy’s yell is one of genuine fright when the tops of his thighs slam into the bar, ass no longer in the seat. Nothing bad happens, though, and after they make a show of Steve hanging over him, like he’s teasing Billy for screaming. 

It’s intimacy all under the guise of boys frolicking from one thrill to the next. Billy’s hands like claws as they rake over Steve’s thin t-shirt. They howl with laughter and have to catch their breaths. Steve steadies Billy with a hand on his chest just to feel the powerful thump of his heart in his breast. They are electric, awed-eyed for each other like they have the carnival to themselves. Total darkness falls after an hour, and they know the fireworks will begin soon. They loiter near a dinky Ferris Wheel, Billy chatting up the operator. Steve thinks he sees money exchange between hands, and then Billy walks back to him like nothing happened. 

“Wanna get the best seat in the house for this shit? You think you know fireworks, baby you ain’t seen nothin yet.”

Steve crosses his arms with a smirk. 

“Judging by what I think I just saw, I get the feeling it’s a done deal.”

How badly Billy wants to take Steve by the hips, lean against a stall somewhere, and just kiss him breathless. Later. They’ll have all the time in the world later. No matter what dad says, when Billy drops Max off, he’ll be taking Steve somewhere for the night. Consequences be damned, he will spend the last night of this summer loving Steve and showing that love with his body. The longer he stares at Steve, the more the pretty boy squirms, rubs at his neck. Billy can’t get enough. 

Sweeping a hand behind him and bowing just a little, Billy says haughtily, “Right this way, my good man.”

It earns Billy the boyish giggle he wants. Playful and shy. He hopes Steve never grows out of that. Is humble and a little bit of a fool until he’s old. Billy keeps such heart-aching thoughts to himself as he follows Steve onto the ride. The operator flicks bushy eyebrows up at Billy in exchange for Billy’s wink. They’ll be at the pinnacle of the Ferris Wheel during the whole show. They’ll have the best view. 

There is plenty of room on the bench for them to spread out. Steve doesn’t want to, doesn’t expect them to. Billy doesn’t disappoint him. Although Steve suspects Billy huddling close is part affection and part fear. Each time they ride something, Billy hesitates. Sometimes he mumbles ‘death trap’ under his breath. And when the rides are over, Billy eagerly pulls Steve away. It’s just a hunch. Steve waits until they’re three cars from the bottom to slide his hand over Billy’s tense thigh. He jumps. 

“Jesus!” Steve is already pulling away. “Why so jumpy?”

But Billy’s hand snaps out like a viper and guides Steve’s hand right back where it’d been. Maybe a little higher towards the heat between his legs. Billy’s jeans always make him look a little hard, and Steve shivers while staring down at their hands. Billy’s ring catches the light bulbs twinkling on the ride, the only way Steve sees anything under the cover of darkness. 

“Sorry, just… not a big fan of heights…”

Billy admits it through mumbling lips, barely moving. The ride jerks as it begins to move. They’re at the top, now, and Billy’s hand goes a little cold on top of Steve’s.

Steve swallows his laughter and says instead, “We didn’t have to ride this one…”

Billy shakes his head and sends the curl in front of his face whipping around. He takes his hand away from Steve’s long enough to run them through his curls, flick and fluffing them up. It strikes Steve then that he’s finally witnessing a nervous habit in Billy. Like Steve playing with his hair and rubbing the back of his neck. Rambling… It melts Steve’s heart, and he reaches up to take back Billy’s left hand. He brings them back to his own thigh this time. Their fingers thread almost on instinct. 

“Don’t look down then, babe,” Steve murmurs, leaning into Billy’s ear. An earring dangles from only that lobe. “Look up at the stars or-or look west at how the sky is slightly lighter there. Or… look at me.”

Billy takes a breath to stop his stomach from dropping yet again. Boy, had he been a clown to be the one to rope them into this. He shutters blue eyes to the ground teasing and so far below. On Steve’s thigh, Billy’s hand tightens. The fireworks should be starting any second now, and that will help distract him. 

Voice thick, Billy says, “Keep talking to me, Steve. Your voice is so pretty when you’re taking care of me.” He strokes the back of Steve’s hand with his thumb. “Baby?”

Steve takes a breath, and his mouth talks for him. It’s easy. Rambling is his specialty. 

“I was happy to see Diamond, Miguel, and Tyrone today when-when they found me. It was, hah, like something out of a movie. Diamond said that you, that you missed me, but Tyrone said he was being dramatic. But I missed you, Billy, I missed you so bad, worried what your dad was gonna do, you don’t know how happy I am that we’re here—”

The first firework rockets up with a hollow pop. Silence. And then an explosion that tickles the inside of Steve’s ears and itches his throat. Billy jumps all along his side, and then his eyes flash open to catch the spray of lights. His cheeks dimple when he smiles, seems to blink and lick his lips in slow motion. For Steve, the fireworks are just the background to the beautiful subject they compliment. Steve doesn’t care at all about someone seeing them when he leans forward. Billy’s head bows a little, eyes meeting, and then Billy kisses him. 

Billy reaches across himself to hold the side of Steve’s head, his ear. He steals a few more kisses, just the plush-pull of their lips and coy slide of tongues. Billy pulls them apart to rest their foreheads together. The car swinging in the air doesn’t startle Billy like it normally would. Steve is on his skin, on his lips, in his breath. There’s nothing to be afraid of if they’re together. Billy won’t allow anything to happen to them. 

“Billy,” Steve whispers almost on his lips. “You’re beautiful.”

A rich hum from Billy, and his tongue flicks out for a quick swipe at Steve’s lips. 

“Look who’s talking,” he purrs back, grinning. 

They part for good then but stay glued together all along their sides. Billy leans more and more on Steve to watch the fireworks. The view favors Steve’s side of the Ferris Wheel, so Billy takes that as an invitation to bogart Steve’s personal space.

Giggling at the weight on him, Steve shakes his right hand free and throws that arm along Billy’s shoulders. At the same time, he forks over his left hand to replace the one he stole from Billy. Thick, rough hands hold his so delicately, fingers clasped and wrist held. Steve is thankful for the fireworks and their beauty. He even looks at them sometimes. But he would rather lean his head in Billy’s hair and enjoy the closeness. 

From under Steve’s chin, Billy’s voice asks softly, “Steve?”

“Yea?”

A pause as Billy squeezes Steve’s hand. 

“Tonight, when I ditch Max at home… I want to see you after. Before you leave tomorrow. 

“Of-of course.” Steve presses his cheek harder to Billy. “The taxi is coming for us at, um, 7 in the morning.” His throat closes up, eyes blinking fast not to burn. “Um, so long as you have me back by then, man, we can-we can go wherever.”

Billy hunches to draw himself that much closer to Steve. Like this, his lips mouth a wet, sucking kiss to Steve’s jaw. They shiver as one, and Billy does it again. Lower. 

“No, I wanna… I wanna go back to the hotel with you. That way we don’t have to worry about that. We’ll have more time together. Tonight.”

The implication is heavy there, and Steve draws in deeply the warm scent of Billy’s hair. 

“Yea?”

Billy slips down more, Steve’s shoulder dropping to give him access. He nips at Steve. Just the barest hint of teeth snapping. It gets Steve squirming and curling his fingers trapped in Billy’s hand. 

“I’m gonna drive you wild all night, baby. I wanna lay you out and take my time, taste every inch of you, make you wet and moan my name.”

Steve’s face flares up hotter than his sunburn from Tuesday. He’s not a prude, but fuck Billy knows how to press all his buttons just the right way. His next breath strangles in his throat, and he knows Billy must hear how he struggles to keep it together. Billy does that to him. Steve bites his lip to stop his noises when Billy’s hand pushes back a little on his, shifting them up Steve’s thigh. 

Turning bitten lips towards Billy, Steve whispers, “Please,” into sandy curls. It’s crazy that he’s squirming and going tingly, growing thick in his pants all because of Billy’s voice. It almost makes Steve want to break into hysterical laughter, but Billy might take it the wrong way. And Steve doesn’t want to ruin their night—the date they’re clearly on—with his worries and melancholy. He wants to enjoy Billy tonight, to keep the memory of tonight perfect. 

Billy sighs heavy in his heart when they’re halfway through the show. He’d planned on making the light show that much better by pulling out the joint in his Newports box, watching Steve marvel at the lights while high and giggly. But… this is nice, too. He can recycle his plan for later when they’re at the hotel. He’d meant what he said about driving Steve wild all night. They’ll have to be quiet with Steve’s parents around, but oh well. It will be a test for Steve in restraint. 

Partially out of affection and partially just to bother Steve, Billy shuffles next to him. Surely by now he’s bullied Steve all the way to the other side of the car. If the edge of it digs into Steve, he doesn’t say anything about it. Billy just wants to kiss him more, nibble on his neck to draw out little, shy noises. He wants everything and anything from Steve. Any part of his time, his body. His heart. Billy wants to swallow it all. 

He wants to plead for Steve to stay. They can figure something out, maybe Steve’s parents won’t mind. They can just live in Frankie’s apartment and….

Billy turns his face down to the collar of Steve’s shirt. A swell of emotion grips his throat like a cruel hand. It squeezes until Billy is lightheaded. He grimaces and grits his teeth through it, just clasps Steve’s slim hand in his. Maybe… Maybe Billy could take the Camaro and just run. Just follow the trail of Steve’s plane like the lost dog he is, chains broken and howling as he draws closer and closer to Indiana. Billy rests his cheek on Steve’s shoulder and sucks in a huge breath. That’s not too crazy. He could do that, could leave all these memories of California behind…

Mom, Frankie, his friends…

Steve’s arm along his shoulder shifts. Shy and careful. And then Steve’s arm bends on itself so that Steve can hold Billy’s head to him. Lips delicate and parted, Billy blinks into the night just beyond the safe space under Steve’s chin. He fights a traitorous tear that toys with overflowing and running down his cheek. He is torn. He wants so much and yet… This must be what Steve had felt that night after their first time together, when Steve freaked out after. Billy was just choking it down this whole time. Deny, deny, deny. 

The finale is upon them, and the cacophony startles Billy in Steve’s arms. It’s the first time all night he feels naked without a jacket. Steve hugging him close, his warmth so real and blanketing Billy, helps push Billy’s vulnerability down. He swallows thickly around that lump in his throat and slowly sits up. He doesn’t want to disturb them, but he would like to watch the big finale. Steve glances to Billy, beams a multi-colored smile at him, and then doe eyes focus on the background once more. 

Billy has the best view. Steve is in his line of sight to where the fireworks explode in the sky beyond. He wonders if Steve feels his gaze roaming over him. Memorizing the play of light and color over Steve’s long nose, the short curve of his jaw. Steve is like a kid at Christmas, and Billy could sit here and watch him forever. Eventually, though, the fireworks must end. The operator will return them to the earth any moment now. 

“Wow,” Steve says with a smile and little nod of his head. “You were right, babe, that was incredible. We don’t get big shows like this in Hawkins.”

Billy nods and blinks somewhere around a mole on Steve’s jaw instead of his eyes. 

“Glad you enjoyed it, baby.” He squeezes their hands and smiles softly when Steve squeezes him back. “Hope you don’t mind the little detour to drop Max off.” Now he raises his eyes and relishes the little hitch in Steve’s throat. “Then it’ll just be me and you.”

Steve licks his lips on reflex and asks with a grin, “Promise?”

“Absolutely.”

The car jerks once, and then they’re moving. It’s a two-part process just like coming up. So the operator can load and unload multiple cars at once. When they land on the ride’s platform, Billy gives the operator a salute and tugs Steve behind him. Steve wishes they didn’t have to let go. But once they’re back on the asphalt, they reluctantly part ways. Shoulder to shoulder, bumping hands and arms frequently, they make their way back to the car. It feels equal parts death march and excited scuttle. They are ravenous for each other but both agonizing tomorrow morning. They must make the best of it. 

Billy slips a cigarette between his lips as they lean on the Camaro. Some of the crowd is leaving like them. Many people will linger until games and rides begin to shut down. Billy is so thankful that he’d told Max ‘after the fireworks’ and not a timeframe. That and the warning to not be late will hopefully put a fire under her ass and get her here faster. Billy smokes his cigarette to keep his mind off Steve beside him. To keep his hands off. 

Billy rocks himself off the hood of the Camaro when Max appears out of the rows of other cars. She’s not late, per se, and Billy isn’t in the mood to yell at her. Her shoulders climb up all defensive like a cat ready to hiss at him. He just yanks open the door and nods for her to climb in behind Steve. Steve sputters when she steps into his personal space. 

“A-actually, um, Billy don’t you think I should sit in back? So we can let Max out easier?”

It would have been impossible to hide his plan from Max. About dumping her at the house and escaping. Dad would figure it out after a while, so he wasn’t worried about her ratting him out, either. Not that she would. She’s not a snitch. Billy and Max share a look through the windshield, and Billy shrugs, flicks his cigarette away. 

“That’s fine. Just switch her when we drop her off.”

Max’s thin eyebrows come together about that, and she misses Steve biting his lower lip. Billy’s demand goes over her head. Steve won’t be the one to explain it even when she cocks an eyebrow up at Steve in the rearview mirror. Steve slouches down in the slippery back seats, leather not used and buffed nearly as much as the front seats. He hates how a middle school kid somehow tiptoes on the edge of the huge secret between them. He won’t fuck this up right at the end, though. So the ride is quiet with any and all of Max’s questions unanswered. 

Fireworks from other shows still spark the night sky when they pull up to a house. Steve wouldn’t recognize it but still squirms to look through the window, looking for a house number. He’s still not sure if Billy will give him his phone number or address. Worse still Steve worries Billy would reject an offer of his information, if Billy felt more comfortable that way. Steve chews it over as Max spills into the night, leaving the door open so Steve can make the switch. They don’t pull off right away, even though Max is through the gate that surrounds the front yard. 

“Are we… waiting for something?”

Billy has an arm out the window like he has a cigarette between his fingers. A familiar position. 

“I’m waiting for her to get in to see if my dad comes storming out. I don’t wanna have it out with him in front of you, but I’ll tell him to go fuck himself if he tries shit.”

Through the shadows of the yard, they watch Max drop her house key, cursing. The lights in the front room are on. A pick-up truck and old Buick sit under the carport. A luxury model is on the street in front of them. A Mercedes. Probably doesn’t belong to anyone in the neighborhood. The boys stare at it while waiting for Max. 

“Bet the back of that car is real nice for fucking,” Billy says with a smirk. “Big back seats. Comfortable. Wonder how bouncy the shocks are.”

That just makes Steve look over his shoulder and imagine them pawing at each other like animals in Billy’s back seats. They’d never gotten a chance, but it’s a heady thought. Steve chews on his lip again and glances to the house. Max has abandoned the front door with a frustrated groan and stomps around the back. Maybe the back door is unlocked, or there’s a hidden key. Still, Billy doesn’t pull off. They’re alone. Steve has an itch he wants to scratch. 

“Billy…” He murmurs, already leaning over the center console. “Hey…”

The puff of Steve’s breath curls like cloying fingers on Billy’s neck. His voice does one better, breathy and tempting. Billy’s tongue already flicks out when he turns his head to eye Steve in the dark. 

“What is it, baby? What’re you thinkin’?”

Steve reaches a hand for Billy’s chest, rubbing his warm palm over defined pecs. He keeps his eyes on the wetness in Billy’s eyes when he deliberately draws over a nipple. Billy has been driving him crazy with this fucking shirt all night. It leaves nothing to the imagination, has constantly drawn Steve’s hungry eyes with every flex of Billy’s muscles. Steve’s next breath stutters over his lips, and his fingers toying with Billy’s nipple become greedy, pinch just to see what Billy will do. 

Billy gives him the hiss and little jump he wants. But Bill reaches up to take Steve’s hand and gently push it away. 

“I don’t want my dad to come out and catch us.”

Steve breathes harder and shakes his head. He leans farther over the center console. He wants something now, is going crazy with their time running out. 

“No one will see us. It’s dark, and your street doesn’t have lights… Come on, Billy,” he pleads at last, tilting his head for a kiss. “Please, babe? All night I’ve wanted to kiss you so bad...”

Billy purses his lips. Considers it. Steve is right, it is pretty dark out here. The floodlight from the yard has long gone out. And now that Max is gone, they’re alone. Inhaling hard, Billy whips his head around. The lights are on in the front room. That’s where dad would be sitting. In his threadbare recliner, sipping a cheap beer. Dad will hear the back door creak open, and surely questions from either parental figure will stop her on her way to her room. How had the carnival been? Did she have fun? Where is Billy?

But no one comes out. And he does so badly want to kiss Steve. 

Breaths quick with the fear of risk, Billy grabs Steve by the jaw and hauls him the rest of the way. They crash together and smack messy, loud kisses to the other’s lips. Steve hums and whines when Billy shoves into his mouth. Billy takes right now when he usually teases Steve’s lips apart. Steve gives it to him right back, sucking on Billy’s tongue and giving it a gentle bite. Not enough to hurt, never. Just enough to have Billy jump in the driver’s seat and flutter his eyes shut. 

Steve’s eyes remain blurry and open. Because he wants to see Billy’s face. Through that haze, light from the house plays tricks on him, increasing until it’s pouring out onto the lawn. Steve blinks moisture out of his eyes and tries to see through Billy’s hair blocking his view. But then Billy changes the angle, and he can’t see anything. 

The violent slam of a door shutting jars their lips apart. 

The boys can’t jump away faster. Billy whips back around with his mouth messy and red, open in shock. The house is still and quiet as he’d left it. But someone had opened a door. And then shut it in haste. Was it from his house? Someone else’s? Billy’s wild eyes comb the darkness for a sign. Shadows appear at the front window of his house. They linger there, talking with big, animated gestures. Billy imagines he can hear yelling. The front door opens, and Billy recognizes the cream color of his dad’s boss’ suit. They stare directly across the yard and through Billy’s rolled down window. Like they can see everything. 

“… Billy?”

Billy’s foot slips off the brake and almost misses the gas in his haste to peel out. He burns rubber in his wake to get away. Had they seen? It was so dark, there’s no way. Dad probably just talks shit about him at work. How useless he is. Shiftless. Disappointment. His boss just wanted a peek at the family pariah. The eccentric son who wears his hair long, shows skin, and never brings girls home. Billy doesn’t realize how hard he’s holding the steering wheel until Steve touches his shoulder. 

“Jesus, Billy, take a breath, it’s okay. N-nobody saw us, babe.”

He trusts Steve. Steve would have been the one to see anything. If there was anything to see. Steve’s hand squeezes Billy’s shoulder in a silent plea for Billy to take it down a notch. To chill out. 

He wants to believe Steve. That everything is all right. Billy has lived in his dad’s violent, bruising shadow for long enough, now. He knows when to trust that animal instinct in him that tells him to fight or fly. And right now, it tells him to fly far. Far, far away from here. 

They’re in the parking lot of the hotel before Billy knows it. He doesn’t remember any of the drive except the initial, frantic burst of speed. The Camaro idles under Billy’s boot. He makes no move towards the gear shift. To put her in Park. To stay here. 

Steve has the passenger door popped open. He pauses with a foot already out of the car. Through the tense air in the cabin, Steve searches for Billy’s eyes. 

“Aren’t you coming?”

He should laugh at that. Haha, isn’t that funny? Make a joke, say something to make Steve laugh or blush…

Billy shivers in his seat and wiggles to sit up straight. He can’t help the ache in his teeth. They’re ready for something beyond his grasp. But not beyond his knowing.

“I, uh…” Billy shifts on his ass again and fidgets. “I’m worried Max might say something…”

It’s not the truth, but it’s not exactly a lie. Billy doesn’t want Dad interrogating her for so many reasons. A big one being that if Billy finds out the old man ever put hands on Maxine or Susan… But a close second is that Max will get flustered and say the wrong thing. She shouldn’t be involved, but she can’t exactly say no to dad. If things get out of control… If Neil saw anything… No one is there to shield them from him. 

Heart sinking, Billy throws a wild look at Steve and says, hushed, “I… I need to go back. Just to make sure he doesn’t like… badger Max for details. It’s none of her business, you know?”

He’s trying to play it cool. Steve bites his lips, considers offering to go with Billy. That no matter what happens, Steve loves him and will do anything to help him. Billy will refuse, though. Billy is good at handling other people. Billy isn’t good at accepting help. So Steve tightens his hands on the Camaro, nods, and then slips out. He shuts the door and backs up quickly in case Billy screams out of here. He throws the car in reverse, but lingers. Steve bends to see Billy through the open window. 

Nerves drive Billy to chew on his lip before he says, “Don't worry your pretty little head.” He forces a smile, and Steve returns it. “I’m just gonna drive back real quick and make sure everything is cool. I’ll be back in like 20 minutes. So”—he flicks fingers towards the hotel—“go up and I’ll knock when I come back. What room number?”

“810.”

Billy nods. 

“810, got it. 20 minutes tops… Steve?”

Steve is still bent to see Billy and so catches Billy’s shoulders hunching up. Nervous. 

“Yea?”

Quiet and then, “If my dad freaks out on me and takes my keys, I’ll be here tomorrow morning. I won’t… I won’t let you leave without seeing you off. Okay?”

Steve hadn’t even thought about that. About Billy not coming back. He has to hold all that remorse in his throat, force it down with a painful swallow. 

“Okay babe… I, uh… drive safe, I guess.”

It’s the best Steve can manage. He practically chokes on those few words. Steve wanders onto the walkway around the hotel to watch Billy back out, pull away. Steve stands there in the dark longer than he needs to. He considers standing here for twenty minutes, honestly, but he isn’t wearing a watch. Nerves rise hot and sour like he’s eaten something bad. He won’t be able to relax until Billy is back here. Safe and his for a little while longer. 

It’s a little after 11 when Steve stumbles into the dark hotel room. His parents are asleep, bags packed and ready to go. Steve could just slap his forehead. His clothes are still thrown all over the room from earlier. Their date seems so far away. Like it’d happened days ago instead of tonight. Halfway through trying to fold his clothes up and fit them back in his suitcase, Steve realizes he never got Billy’s number or address before he left. Steve stands in the middle of his hotel room, 11:30 blaring big and red from the nightstand. 

His breaths catch in the heavy ball of emotion in his throat. The last time Billy had driven away with a promise to come back… he didn’t. Not of his own volition, of course, but… Steve’s hands shake as he searches for the bed to guide himself down. He needs to sit, needs to do something with all this dread squeezing a cruel fist around his heart. His window faces the ocean. He wishes he could part the curtains and find Billy out there. Like he would just appear. 

Steve’s suitcase and packing are a lost cause for the next half hour. The alarm clock rolls over to midnight. Saturday. He can’t keep still for long, can’t choose between sitting on the bed, pacing, or staring out the window. It’s all Steve can do to keep his fucking hands out of his hair. If he allows himself that nervous habit, he’ll go bald from tugging on the strands.

His room is completely silent as he waits. For the phone to ring, for a distant horn to sound, a knock. Something. Eventually his cage cannot contain him, and Steve flies down seven flights of stairs to explode into the night. 

He paces the parking lot first. And then around the hotel, and then finally slips to the beach. He could probably get in trouble for being down here, like entering a public park after sundown. Hopper had busted him once or twice before Steve figured out to just drive to the quarry or somewhere just outside Hawkins. Nowhere ever feels safe enough at night. Now, Steve couldn’t care less if the monster just turned up for no reason. He’s too busy worrying.

Down the street, a bank sign advertises the time and the current temperature. It’s 12:38 before Steve gives up and goes back inside. The person at the front desk eyes him as he sheepishly skitters to the elevator. But he has his key in hand, so he doesn’t stop for confrontation. The hotel room is just as quiet as when he’d left it half an hour ago. Steve sits again, hands rubbing his upper arms, and wishes Billy would just pop out. Like he snuck up here and was waiting to scare him. But he’s not here. Steve knows that. Something happened. 

He flops down on the bed, hungry for Billy’s leather jacket. He’d squandered that small gift away, would give almost anything to have it just to wrap it around himself and smell Billy. His stupid cologne and the scent of his aftershave, farther down the actual salt and skin smell of his body in the lining and under the arms. Instead, Steve sits up long enough to snatch a pillow. It’s no substitute for Billy’s weight on his chest, in his arms, but he needs something damnit. The worry and fear he choked down this whole time finds him now, and Steve’s ears burn with the sounds of his own sniffling and stuttered breaths. And when tears drip into his ears, he doesn’t stop them. Just closes his eyes and cries. 

The knock on the door sometime later jolts him awake. His heart leaps, mistaking it for a knock from Billy. But it’s his parents on the other side of the door separating his room from the suite. The room is already stuffy from sunshine and rising heat. It’s morning.

“Sweetheart,” his mother calls. “The taxi will be here shortly, are you up yet?”

His face is all scratchy and rough from crying. Steve scrubs sweaty hands over his face and hair and struggles to find something he could say. Billy never came back. There’s still hope. He’d told Billy when they were leaving. Billy will come. He’ll show up probably right as Steve is slipping into the backseat with his mother, run up to the car, and… 

“Y-Yea, I’m up, I’m almost ready.”

She says nothing, satisfied. Steve jumps up and takes a mini-shower in the sink. There’s no time for anything else. He gets water everywhere like a slob but can’t convince himself to feel guilty about it. The room will be cleaned when they leave anyway. And it’s not like he’s destroying anything. It’s a frantic rush to wash his face, brush his teeth, and go over the room one more time to make sure he has everything. His suitcase strains at the locks that keep it closed. He has no idea how he managed to pack it the first time. Everything fit, then. Steve chalks it up to his poor organization skills. 

They gather as a family with their suitcases near the door to the suite. Steve holds his breath when his father opens the door to walk out first. He hopes against hope that Billy is there, fist raised to knock. But there’s no one. It’s a running trend this morning, and Steve sweats at the collar of his polo to think it’s a trend that will last. Billy has maybe five minutes to show up before they leave. Steve’s mother is the one to pull him along and coax him with his name like he’s a dog. He feels like a puppy spinning around on his heels, looking every which way to catch a glimpse of Billy. There’s nothing. No Camaro. No curling cigarette smoke from grinning lips. Nothing.

“Sweetheart, we need to go, come on,” his mother bids.

She’s already in the backseat of the taxi. Their bags are in the trunk. Everyone’s eyes are on him.

Face too hot all at once, Steve scrambles for something to say. An excuse, like he’d forgotten something. Wait, wait, just please wait, he needs more time. They can’t leave now. No, no, he didn’t get to say goodbye. He needs to tell Billy he loves him, that they need to see each other again, they’ll find a way. And that last kiss that ruined everything was the last-last kiss, and Steve doesn’t want to leave it like this, he can fix this, they can make it work.

“Hop to it, son, let’s go, I’m not missing our flight to connect in Denver.”

Steve’s shoulders collapse. Billy… really isn’t coming. He grits through his sorrow and scrubs an arm over his eyes, a harsh back and forth. He sinks into the taxi with great reluctance. Body dead weight against the door, Steve stares out the window with his hair falling in his face. He can’t fucking breakdown and cry in front of his parents. It’s what he wants, just wants to roll out of the moving taxi and take off running like the monster is hot on his heels.

He sniffs wet and terrible and uses the sleeve of his shirt to blot his eyes. Doe eyes keep vigilant as they draw closer and closer to the airport. They won’t have long to wait for the flight, just need to step through a metal detector and have their bags x-rayed. They’ll be on the plane in no time, and then California will be too far away. It’s stupid, so cruel to Steve’s heart that he thinks maybe Billy will somehow know which airport they’re going to. He can’t help himself. A drowning man will cling to even a straw to save himself.

Ever attentive and caring, his parents say nothing about how quiet he is. How withdrawn. He takes the window seat on the plane because Mother directs him there. Each breath feels like the last as Steve curls up against the body of the plane. When they’d departed in Indianapolis a week ago, he stared out the window for something to do. For the sights. Now he stares out the window as they take off, shaking as they climb higher, to try and map where they were all over town. Even higher up, Steve can’t make sense of it. Frankie’s apartment, the beach, the brief glimpse of Billy’s house… He doesn’t know where any of those places are, and he leaves them behind along with a piece of himself.


	18. Billy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve's life after the summer of 84.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was begun on January 3rd, 2020. It was complete on January 18th, 2020. Nearly 107,000 words later lol. Thank you to the repeat readers and commenters! And hello to readers in the future who are finding the fic now and commenting on the last chapter. I hope everyone enjoyed the ride! This story was a fucking punch in the heart and nads, wasn't it? Some of the events in season 2 are out of order here. Ignore it lol.
> 
> If you'd like more from me, or you'd like something with better characterization since I've learned a lot since this first fic, please browse my profile. I have a backlog of fics to post, mostly ABO one-shots. Please always mind the tags on my fics, harassment of any kind on my """problematic""" fics will be deleted and/or reported for abuse. Use your brain while clicking stuff lol.
> 
> [@missraygillette](https://twitter.com/missraygillette) I tweet about things I'm working on. Come love these stupid girls/boys with me.

Nancy means well helping him with this essay. And the comparison he’d made between his grandfather and basketball seemed so clear and clever when he scribbled it down. He is wrapped up in the anguish of still, still not talking to his parents about college. He stops mid sentence when the rumble of a car rolling up on the high school parking lot has his heart freezing. Nancy goes on talking, goes on explaining all the weaknesses in his essay. Steve sits up and feels something uncurl in his stomach that’s been an ugly, spiked knot since July. He would recognize that lion roar anywhere. Nobody at Hawkins High drives a Camaro.

Like out of a dream, Billy emerges with little Max. They’re at each other’s throats more than Steve remembers. Billy has a cowering hunch to his shoulders Steve doesn’t remember. He can’t think about that, can’t think about Nancy’s voice going high as he nearly spills himself to the asphalt in his haste to get out of the BMW. He’s dreaming, right? This is crazy, right? That can’t be Billy Hargrove.

Breathing hard and dragging himself up using his car, Steve stares and bleats, “Billy?”

Girls already ogle him. Sizing up all that California sun Billy has brought with him to this shithole. Steve knows exactly what they’re looking at. What they want. Seeing Billy here is like water on parched lips, and Steve knows he could be sick right now. With relief, with love, something. Billy is a sore subject, and he doesn’t talk about this summer. Neither does Nancy and whatever she’d gotten up to. They can’t talk about it. Steve’s fingers curl over the red of the BMW as he waits. He’s waited this long. He just needs Billy to look at him, to see him.

Billy frowns around his cigarette at the sound of his voice, and then like clockwork, he turns in Steve’s direction. 

It’s a moment of silence. The world still turns. But for a moment they just look at each other. For a moment, they see each other and everything is okay.

And then Billy is hacking and coughing on cigarette smoke, face ugly and red immediately as he struggles for breath. He beats his fist against his chest, right between his pecs. The girls watching him cackle, their interest waning, and then they stroll towards the school. Max has already rolled away and so doesn’t witness Billy slamming a fist hard one last time to get it all out. He’s like an animal sprung from a trap as he spins around on his boot heels and staggers towards the school. Away from Steve.

Nancy climbs out of the car, her hand on the roof, and asks, “What was that all about?”

Steve isn’t too sure himself. All of his love comes rising from the grave. He wants to chase Billy, wants to grab him and hold him. A million questions surge behind that love. He has so many things he needs to ask. What’d happened? Why didn’t Billy come back? Is he okay, why is he here? What happened?

Instead, Steve stays rooted to his car. To Nancy.

“Uh… n-nothing. It’s nothing, Nance,” he says with a laugh, forcing it. “We should, uh, get to class… probably.”

It doesn’t get any easier or better. Billy in is some of his fucking classes. Always sitting in the back. Not meeting Steve’s eyes. At lunch, Billy postures in front of all the popular girls, waggles his eyebrows, licks his lips, everything. Steve doesn’t mean to watch like some love sick chick, scorned and hurting. It’s how he feels, though, when Billy welcomes himself to a table and pulls Sharon Miller into his lap, eyes her body up and down. Like he’s interested. Like he wants anything she can give him.

Billy doesn’t give him a chance to be alone and just talk. He fits right in with the jocks—Steve recalls Billy telling him about being too aggressive, getting kicked off the football team in California—like he’s always been here. Billy shows up at basketball try-outs so the team can fill up the open varsity spots. Steve takes it as a sign. That Billy will talk to him. Acknowledge him.

The first time Billy charges him and smacks all that power into Steve, the very first time, Steve lies flat on his back and feels himself break all over again.

“Plant your feet,” Billy sneers. “Draw a charge.”

They’re the same lips that had whispered sweet nothings to him. The same lips that kissed him. Who is this person wearing them, now? Not Billy. Someone who looks and walks and talks like Billy. But not Billy. Steve hopes maybe he’ll see some recognition in Billy’s blues. Maybe he’s hurting, too, and doesn’t know how to handle it. 

Billy playing straight is perhaps the worst thing. Steve could take the bullying and the aggression. He can’t take seeing every Stacy, Jessica, and Tammy claw at Billy to get a piece. What does Billy even fucking do with them?! Steve could tear his hair out thinking about it. It’s not his only problem, though. The tension lurking between him and Nancy decides now is the perfect time to throw its hat into the ring of his life and upper cut him straight in the jaw.

“It’s bullshit,” Nancy slurs at him, just as mean and hard as Billy.

He’s had enough. Barely a month into the last year of his hell in high school and his life is falling apart. Steve leaves Nancy to her bullshit and her ruined costume and storms outside. The empty spaces beside him in the shapes of Tommy and Carol have never felt so cold. With them long gone and now Nancy balling him up and throwing him in the trash… Steve stands in the dark backyard of whoever’s house this is and just sucks in the bitter Hawkins air. He should be afraid to be so close to the treeline. The hairs on the back of his neck stand up. 

“Trouble in paradise, pretty boy?”

Steve can’t help his gut reaction of joy when he hears Billy. Billy calling him pretty boy again. A month of brutality and harassment have yet to make a significant dent in his heart. He still loves Billy. As foolishly and blindly as he loves Nancy. Even after all that…

Billy struts up next to him, no shirt under his jacket and chest stinking of beer. A cigarette hangs off his lip. Steve wants to take it, flick it away, and kiss Billy. He needs a little bit of comfort right now. The hardness in Billy’s jaw and eyes warns him he won’t be getting any of it.

“That little girl of yours is a pistol if I’ve ever seen one. You should learn how to keep bitches in check.”

Steve blinks, confused, and then looks around. They’re alone.

“What… What the hell are you talking about, man? You know her. That’s Nancy, I told you—”

Billy exhales smoke in his general direction. He could have just turned his head. A nasty grin follows.

“Yea, she seems like a lot to handle. A real bitch, honestly. I’d take her off your hands, but I’m kinda busy already.”

Rage claws up ugly and fierce in Steve’s throat. It’s not an emotion he often feels, and other than screaming, he doesn’t know what to do with it. Violence isn’t really in him.

“What. The fuck. Are you talking about?!” His voice echoes off the trees. “You don’t even like girls, so what the fuck is keeping you so busy? What…” Steve takes a step forward, heart full of too much murky betrayal, and asks broken, “What’s wrong with you? Billy, please, talk to me.”

He makes the mistake of reaching for Billy. Billy’s ring will leave a bruise across the fine bones there.

“Chill out, Harrington, I know you just got dumped, but like—”

“Shut the fuck up!”

Some people have come out of the house, now. They watch from the sliding back door as Steve faces Billy, widens his stance.

_ Plant your feet _ .

“You are-I can’t believe you right now! Did someone fucking bash your head in and now you’re like this?”

Billy’s face falters. He flinches half a step away from Steve, the real Billy clearly under this ugly coat of bravado and machismo paint. It doesn’t suit Billy well, and Steve just wants to shove Billy into the dirt to get it off him. Something. The growing crowd at the back of the house draws Billy’s eyes away, and then his face seals up again. Steve had a taste. And his Billy is gone again.

Putting his hands up in front of him, Billy shakes them a little and jeers, “Ohhh, uh oh, someone’s on the rag.”

Tommy in the peanut gallery pops off with, “Hah, nice one, Billy,” like the stooge he is.

Much like back in the bathroom with Nancy, Steve just has to seal himself up in the wall of his own pain. It’s all he can do. He certainly can’t cry in front of the whole school.

“Okay. I get it,” he says hushed, just for them. “If that’s how you want it, Hargrove, then fine. I won’t bother you anymore. Enjoy your party.”

Steve had driven Nancy here. He shouldn’t leave without her. He can’t convince himself to walk through the onlookers, back into the house, and then wrestle her away. Because that would be a great look for him right now. Screaming hysterically at the newest, hottest piece in town and then forcing his girlfriend, ex-girlfriend whatever into the BMW. Oh yea, that would go over so well. So, hands in the pockets of his jeans, Steve gives his back to Billy and walks the long way around the house, back to his car. He doesn’t see the way Billy’s face falls again, open and raw for just a split second. And maybe when Steve marches by the Camaro on the street, he pauses there for a long time and touches a chip in the blue paint. It’s over.

  
  


It’ll be the thunder-clap of the Camaro outside the Byers house that has Steve panicking more than these fucking demodogs and protecting all the kids. No. Billy can’t be here right now. A week ago, Steve would have been foolish and flushing with hope. Maybe Billy has come to apologize, make this right. Maybe now he can tell Billy the truth, they have physical proof in the damn fridge, Billy would believe him, Billy would help protect the kids… Steve knows better now. And he doesn’t care, just needs to get Billy away from the woods. So he marches outside to do just that and hates how everything in him burns bright at the sight of the other boy.

It’s almost exactly what Billy had worn to the house party. His red shirt isn’t sheer this time, but he looked just like this. Their first kiss and their confessions come rushing back to Steve. Billy whips off the leather jacket Steve had jerked it to. Knows. Steve jerked it to. It’s the worst taunt, and Steve can’t decide which is more cruel: Billy doing it on purpose or accident. He almost forgets to play along with Billy’s bullshit. Like he doesn’t know who the fuck Max is. But at the end of the day, he just needs Billy gone. Even if Billy hates him now, Steve can’t hate him back. He would rather jump in front of a demodog and let it chew on him than let Billy get wrapped up in this shit.

“Get out.”

Before now, he’d struck Billy once. On that hilltop, surrounded by Billy’s friends. It was out of fear, and he regretted it immediately. He would rather never put his hands on Billy again. Maybe it’s all the stress and the heartache. Maybe it’s Billy spitting ‘King Steve’ like Billy is just another kid at school who hates him now. Maybe it’s Billy staring at him with those big, blue eyes and taking the first fucking swing. Whatever. One minute he’s punching Billy until he twirls in circles in his boots. The next he’s flat on his back with familiar weight straddling him. The fists tenderizing his face don’t really allow him to enjoy it. The heartache and the pain, the fear on Billy’s face while he rides the high of their fight. Steve doesn’t see it.

When he comes to, he mistakes Max driving the fucking Camaro—driving the Camaro—as Billy. And his heart stops and then throbs twice as fast in all the bruises in his face. But Billy isn’t here… inside the Camaro. Where Steve and the kids shouldn’t be. Faster than he can put his head back on straight, they’re in the tunnels, setting the fire, and then running for their lives. When the ground shakes and they hear through the hole the screams of the Upside Down dying, that’s when Steve’s adrenaline finally gives out. He thinks maybe Billy has permanently rearranged his face. His nose is going to be crooked forever, now.

The three boys in the back fall asleep the moment they climb in. Max claims the passenger seat, her rightful seat, when Steve insists on driving them back to the Byers house. There’s a little matter of an unconscious, drugged up psychopath they need to take care of. The thought of calling Billy that further sours Steve’s already blood-sour mouth. He tests the textured grip around the steering wheel of the Camaro. It feels good in his hands. Feels good to put his hands where Billy’s have been time and time again. Windows down to get the stench off them, Steve turns his face to the wind and laughs. It’s humorless. Heartbroken.

“Hey Steve…”

They’re alone. For all intents and purposes, anyway. Steve had wondered right at the beginning what Max felt about all this. She recognized him when they met again, but otherwise… Did she notice Billy acting like they didn’t know each other? Maybe she wants to talk…

His voice breaks from screaming when he says, “Hey Max…”

She shifts beside him, voice so much softer than he’s heard it.

“I’m sorry my brother beat your face in. I didn’t expect him to do that, I thought you two were…”

So she knows. Or she’d suspected. Damn, she’s smart, too. Just like Billy.

Steve’s voice doesn’t shake at all when he murmurs deeply, “Yea. Yea we, we were… Back when I was in California, I was really…”

Steve’s throat closes up. He’d really been in love with Billy. So terribly deeply. And now…

“Max?” He glances at her and finds her face mournful. Like they hadn’t just helped save the world. “What happened? I’ve been so confused this whole time… Why are you guys here? What happened to him?”

Her eyes close, and then her face crumbles a little. She turns to face the windshield, a coping mechanism during Billy’s harassment, and speaks softly to him.

“That night he brought you with us to take me home. After the fireworks? Well, I walked into the house, and Billy’s dad was waiting for me. He had his boss over for something, they were smoking and drinking in front of the TV. He went to walk his boss out to his car, but I knew you guys were still out there.” She pauses, and in the reflection of the windshield, she looks down at the dash. “I could hear the car running. I tried to stop him, but he wouldn’t listen, and he… saw. You guys.”

Steve is glad they’re on a long straightaway. He can just let his foot drive as all the warmth drains out of him. Faster than the demodogs charging them. 

“He saw us in the car?”

Max bites her lower lip and nods, hair bouncing.

“They both did. And Billy’s dad, he hates stuff like that.” She glances to him in their reflections. “You know. Gay people.”

She says it softly, like there’s a remote chance any of the boys are awake. Their heavy breathing and snores say otherwise.

“And he was always hard on Billy, and I think maybe he knew, but he was in denial about it or something. But then he saw you, and his boss started yelling at him.”

Max’s hands fly to her hair and grip the red strands. It’s something Steve had seen Billy do at that exact moment of utter dread.

Max sucks in a breath between her teeth and goes on, faster and faster as she talks, “And then Billy came back, because he’s fucking stupid, and his dad was angrier than I’ve ever seen. And they started yelling at each other, breaking things, and then, and then Billy’s dad had him by the neck and they were fighting.” She’s not crying, but her face looks like it wants to. Fear and anguish. “And there was just so much blood, and he wouldn’t stop, and Billy was crying, but we couldn’t help him, and even when his dad stopped Billy just crawled into his room and shut the door and didn’t come out until Monday morning…”

Steve is just as choked as her when Max finally runs out of air. Runs out of things to say. Steve’s left hand sweeps up from the steering wheel, first rubbing the web of his thumb over the tremor in his lips, and then his fingers pinch the swollen skin at the bridge of his nose. Max turns away from him too, curled up against the door. Like she needs to protect herself. The tear that squeezes itself out of Steve’s eye hurts like Billy’s fists all over again. He only wipes it away when it reaches a spot less bruised than the rest of him. He imagines himself, then, standing outside the taxi at the hotel. Waiting for Billy and yet Billy had probably been unconscious at the time. Beaten maybe nearly to death because of him. And Steve never knew.

They’re almost back to the Byers house when Max collects herself, adds with her voice rough, “Instead of firing Billy’s dad, his boss transferred him to the office in the big city nearby. They sold the house and… moved us here. We didn’t know we would end up in Hawkins until we got here.”

Steve nods at last, like a shock from an outlet. He licks his lips and searches for something to say. What can he say? He wishes he could offer her some comfort. To watch what happened to her brother… and just when Billy was coming around, was curving that sharp edge of his and being nice. Steve rolls his bruised lips together to stop them from trembling and sucks down a painful breath. He thinks that first kick from Billy’s boot may have done more damage than initially thought.

“Max, I…” He clings to the steering wheel. “I’m sorry, Max. I’m so sorry.”

In the corner of his vision, Steve watches her look over and up at him. He wonders if her eyes are as full as his are, if she’s desperate for a moment alone so she can cry in privacy. They won’t get it until Steve drives her, Billy, and the Camaro back to their house. He tries not to think about how to get Billy into the car with all his dead weight.

They manage it. Somehow. Max and him at opposite ends of Billy’s body, dragging him to the car more than carrying him. Three sleepy boys exchanged for an unconscious one—how is Billy so much heavier than during the summer? So much bulkier and stronger?—Steve takes care when he rumbles down the narrow Hawkins roads. He couldn’t keep his eyes off Billy’s softness in sleep, the slack in his lips and the curve of his neck. Trying to not think of Billy while missing him at the beginning had been impossible. More often than not, while tossing hot and sweating in his sheets, Steve would think of Billy more than Nancy. He felt guilty about that right up until Nancy yelled at him at the party. So now, with his arms trembling under Billy’s bulk, he takes his fill of missing this boy. It’s over, remember?

The house on Cherry Lane is dark and quiet. Neil Hargrove’s truck is around back. Hopefully he’s a heavy sleeper as Steve parks the Camaro at the curb. They drag Billy through the porch, over the threshold, and then hang an immediate right into Billy’s room. It’s exactly what Steve had thought it would be, minus the sloppy tacked up posters of women. Like they’re a second thought. Billy’s sheets smell like him when Steve and Max finally dump him there. Steve is nice enough to wrestle Billy out of his boots, but otherwise they do nothing. Let him wake up to a hangover from the syringe and the delicate bruises along his jaw. With his stomach sinking, remembering Max’s tale, Steve hates that he put his hands on Billy even more. Hates it more than he thought possible.

“Max?” Steve whispers. “Did Billy’s dad stop beating him after that first time?”

Quiet.

“First time? You mean back in July?”

She’s by Billy’s bedroom door. Steve forces his eyes away from Billy and looks at her. She’s confused. Tired. Hurt wriggling through it all.

“Steve… that wasn’t the first time Billy’s dad beat the shit out of him,” she confesses. 

Not the first time she had to stand by and watch, either. Steve tapes it all together like the tunnel pages in Jonathan’s house right now. He didn’t know his heart could break more than it already is.

“Does he still… ?”

Max blinks, flattens her lips to stop the tremble, and then nods. She spares a watery glance at Billy, full of pity and sorrow, and then blinks big eyes up at Steve.

“Good night, Steve,” she croaks.

She leaves him, then, closing the door so it’s just Steve and Billy in the room. Full of trust that he would never hurt Billy. He has his moment, now, to carefully cover his aching face with his hands and cry. Billy’s mattress is firm under him, thin and old and cheap. Steve gets his elbows into his thighs, hunched over, and breathes through the catch in his throat. He should be happy. They’ve just saved the world. They ended it. Nothing else can come through from that horrible place and hurt anyone. So why this? Why this huge chasm in him that continuously rips open and makes the edges of his heart so raw? 

Steve cups his hands over his mouth to bottle his sounds, looking around Billy’s things with wet eyes. It hurts to cry. His face is in shambles, he’s sore all over from Billy’s boots and running… But he can’t stop, now, and just slides back into his hands. It’s so easy to finally cry with Billy here. If only Billy would wake up and forget these past months, forget all the horrible things they said under the ears of others. Steve would forgive him, because he’s a fool, because he loves Billy so much even now. He would give anything to have Billy wake up, smile through the bruises, and call him baby again.

Lungs and throat on fire, Steve turns at the waist to watch Billy sleep. His shirt has come out of his pants a little. Steve snorts through his tears and bets Billy probably isn’t wearing underwear. Hadn’t while Steve knew him. It’s foolish, so cruel to himself to do it, but he reaches out to rest a hand on Billy’s leg. Billy is a little cool under Steve’s hand. Like even his blood is asleep. Snorting wet and disgusting, Steve trembles when he forces himself to his feet. He finds the edge of a blanket shoved to the bottom and along the wall of Billy’s bed. Steve tugs it free from where it’s caught and pulls it up, up, up to Billy’s chin. He’ll need ice in the morning for those sore lips and purple jaw. At least now Steve can’t see his own blood all over Billy’s knuckles.

He should leave, now. His duty is fulfilled, mission accomplished. Steve swallows hard even though it hurts. He hadn’t wanted to leave California. He doesn’t want to leave Billy, now. But it’s over, can’t he see that? Billy is a roving animal, wild and hurt and probably hates himself for what’s happened. Maybe he hates Steve, too, blames Steve’s greed on this. Steve was the one to plead for Billy to take the risk that cost him everything. Steve’s eyes pinch shut as a fresh wave of burning anguish floods his eyes. He’s so tired of crying over Billy Hargrove.

An unsteady breath rushes in through Steve’s mouth, and then he whispers, “I miss you, Billy. I miss you so bad, babe.”

It’s like he’s back in Frankie’s warm, safe apartment. Nothing could hurt them, there. They had each other, and everything was okay. It startles Steve, then, that he hasn’t thought of Frankie since leaving California. So distant from Hawkins and his life for the past twenty-four hours or so. A distant voice reminds him of the AIDS crisis and that… patients don’t usually live long after they find out. That they pass quickly from the world, like the words are a death sentence. It could very well be that Frankie has passed, maybe even passed before Billy left California. So to know now that Billy lost him, his home, and probably Frankie in such a short amount of time… 

Steve gives a pitiful whine through his rough vocal cords and reaches for Billy’s face. Billy’s head is heavy and pliant like this. Steve can only hope Billy is dreaming something pleasant. Or just blissfully unaware of everything. Steve grazes careful fingertips down Billy’s jaw, gentle when he turns Billy to face him. His head shifts on the pillow, tugging at his hair and the Virgin Mary at his neck. He’s still so beautiful after all the hurt. After them clawing at each other like wild animals. It felt good to get it out. 

Steve’s nose scrunches at the tip when he sweeps down to kiss Billy’s forehead. The wrinkles of fury and bravado aren’t here right now. It’s just Billy, soft in his sleep. It’s one of the ways Steve remembers Billy in his head, fiercely protecting and preserving the Billy who’d loved him this summer. That one must be gone, now. Steve twists the knife deeper in his gut when he presses his nose and lips, no matter how tender, to Billy’s hair. The hairspray and products smell fresh. Billy had dressed up tonight for something. Steve hides a trembling smile thinking the universe is playing a wicked game with him. It must be to force such cruelness on them.

One more kiss, and then he whispers, “Goodbye, Billy.”

He goes from driving the Camaro with the kids in it to smashing into the side of it, into Billy, barely seven months later. Steve thinks he lives his life for a snippet at a time, experiences general calm, and then more shit happens. This time is a little more dire than one monster in the woods and then a bunch of demodogs running around. The Mindflayer fills the entire cathedral ceiling of Starcourt. And Billy is there despite the neck-snapping car accident. He’s there, and he’s terrifying, looking more deranged than their fight last year. Steve watches him go for Mike’s little girlfriend, El or Jane whatever, and knows Billy is truly gone. He would never do this. It’s all Steve can do to tip his upper body over the railing of the second floor and scream amongst the explosions and terror.

“Billy!”

Just as quickly as Billy is there, it’s over. El does the trick, turns the puppet against its master. Steve is a glutton for punishment, must be by now, as he watches Billy die. His terror of reliving the monster the first time at the drive-thru, the voice track from  _ Jaws _ sending him spiraling, is nothing compared to what he’ll dream about now. Black ooze and Billy screaming triumphant—haha, got you. Then falling like a pile of bricks and not getting up. Robin bumps into Steve as he watches Max cry over Billy and then against El when she can’t hold herself up anymore. It occurs to him now, looking down, that maybe he’d seen the same in Robin that he saw in Billy. Why he likes her so much. She’s a little mean to him, smart as a whip. Pretty. He looks at her as she stares at the kids. He can’t have her, either. 

It’s a rough three months between Starcourt and getting hired at Family Video. But he powers through it. Doesn’t think about the empty bedroom in a house on Cherry Lane. Doesn’t think about all the wasted time and things left unsaid. Robin is a good distraction. He can ramble around her, and it feels good. So what if she doesn’t, like, have feelings for him. The kind he wants again. They’re thick as thieves, and that’s good enough. He doesn’t tell her about his revelation at Starcourt. She’ll never be Billy. And… Steve finds he doesn’t want another Billy. Billy was it. It’s over. For real this time.

He’s waiting in the parking lot of the arcade to drive everyone home. They still have another ten minutes before the arcade closes, kicking them out. Things are a little weird without Will and El in the bunch. It hurts Mike the most, even Steve can see that, but his Party surrounds him and takes his pain and makes it their own. Shared trauma. Steve huffs out a humorless laugh and flicks the end of a cigarette butt away. Nobody in town sells Newports. He keeps a pack or two in the freezer door in the rinky apartment he shares with Robin. Arcade nights are when she… has the apartment to herself for a solid hour. Steve doesn’t want to know what she gets up to.

The flimsy glass door of the arcade swings open. Max is there, hair in braids. It’s a cute style on her. They’re all growing up so fast. He doesn’t remember shooting up tall like they are now. Doesn’t remember having so much acne either, but he’s sure he did. Steve swings a hand around him to disperse the rest of the smoke while Max comes hopping up, leans against the side of the BMW with him. Sometimes he worries she’s going to pick up smoking. He tries not to smoke around the kids. Especially when Max might recognize the brand…

“Hey Steve?”

“Hey Max?”

They share a smile. But Max’s falls lightning fast.

“Will you make me the last person you drop off tonight? There’s… I have something for you.”

This is a Billy conversation. Sometimes, Steve catches Max looking at him. Full of that pain and sorrow, regret only the two of them share. Of wasted time and wasted opportunities. Billy was no angel, snapped and hissed at Max. She has tenderness for him even now. Even if Billy did nothing to deserve it. Still, Steve likes to think they remember Billy when he was at his best. That they remember him glowing and wild behind his grins. Without the iron shackles that made him hard and mean. 

Steve’s throat is thick when he stutters, “Uh, uh yea, sure kiddo, that’s fine. Dustin is gonna pitch a fit, but.”

It’s easier, now, to remember Billy without tears and getting choked up. There’s a firm divide in who he’d been to Steve. The Billy who lived on Cherry Lane… He doesn’t know that Billy. The same who died in July. He doesn’t know him.

“He’ll get over it, “ Max says simply with a little roll of her shoulders. “I won’t call shotgun, so he’ll be happy to sit up front with mommy.”

She has that edge to her. Just a little cutting. It brings a smile to Steve’s face.

“Yea, yea, can it. You’re one to talk, how over the moon you are for Eleven.”

He teases her good natured like. A friendship is a friendship. She deserves happiness. Out of all of them, Max and Eleven deserve happiness after all this.

She blushes and rolls her eyes, actually reaches over to him to shove him.

“Shut up, Harrington.”

Of course he’s extremely curious what Max has for him. He worries for a split second while the inside of the BMW is loud and chaotic that Max has found, like, whatever the reverse of a love letter is. A hate letter, blaming Steve for everything. Then again, a love letter would be just as bad but in a different direction. Steve bobs his head and flickers through expressions like he’s talking to himself. Luckily, all the kids are crowing about high scores and a new game. The boys still haven’t saved Princess Daphne. That title belongs solely to Max, and she is smug about it. Steve only has to yell at them to tone it back down to 9 instead of 12 twice. Of course, the moment he drops off Mike, the arguing goes down by a quarter. Lucas is half. And then Dustin is all of it, despite his whining about Steve taking Max home last. Just like Steve knew he would.

They linger outside Dustin’s house long enough for Max to climb out and claim shotgun. They still sit there a moment, engine purring. It’s a house cat compared to the Camaro. Sometimes, when Steve hears a motorcycle far away, he thinks he can trick himself into thinking it’s Billy. Riding around Hawkins, not a care in the world. Steve sighs and grips his own steering wheel. It’s best not to think about the Camaro. The last time he’d seen it, he was t-boning it. Totaling it. He doesn’t even know what’d happened to it after paramedics swept them away. Again, he tries not to think about it.

Cherry Lane tonight is just as dark as it’d been a year ago. When he and Max carried Billy’s dead weight into the house, into his bed. Steve reflects on that night he stole a kiss from Billy’s forehead. Truly? That was the last kiss. Practically the last time he ever saw Billy up close. After the fight, Billy basically evaporated from his life. They lived in the same town, but as far as they were concerned, neither existed. Robin was a good distraction during the summer, before he understood the truth about her. Hopefully she and her girlfriend are at least having a good night. Steve can tell this will be a quarry night. Work tomorrow will be hell.

Max gets out of the car with Steve still inside, foot still on the brake. She bends down to stare at him through the glass, face tensing and bobbing with attitude when he doesn’t get it. 

“Oh.”

Car parked and door shut, Steve hops around the front to join Max in a few strides. Neil Hargrove’s truck is at the curb rather than parked around back. Steve stares at it long and hard while Max fiddles with the lock. They’re silent when they enter the house, Steve twisting the handle so that even the tumblers don’t click. He follows in Max’s footsteps as she makes that immediate right turn into… Billy’s room. What used to be his room. Max has moved in here, now. She still has the red fabric pinned over the window. The bed is a little smaller than Billy’s. But Steve bets the dresser and vanity mirror had been Billy’s. Maybe Billy’s mother’s before him.

Steve nudges the bedroom door shut when Max waves him in. They keep quiet when they speak, voices hushed.

“I… I debated about giving this to you, Steve.” She stands in front of her bed, facing it with Steve at her back. “I know you and Billy meant something to each other. I don’t know what, but…”

Max’s shoulders fall in a sigh, and then she spins around. Steve doesn’t catch a glimpse of what’s behind her. Only a vague shape on the bed.

“But when Billy… died, I took his stuff before Neil could throw it out. He tried to just sweep Billy out of the house, like he was never here.”

She’s not so hardened to the sorrow like he is. It’s still fresh for her. When does she truly get a chance to not think about Billy? Still living in the house he had, moving on because she has to. Because she doesn’t have a choice. This night has so much in common with the secret she shared with him last year when Steve drove them home from the battle. Unlike that night, though, Steve knows how to comfort Max. His face falls a little, and he opens his arms. Just a little, if she wants to take it. Max scowls at him for a breath, tries to hold it, but then gives in. Her head is level with his chest, so Steve curls down a little so she knows he’s here. That she’s not alone. He misses Billy, too.

There are no tears. Just quiet gasps and heaving breaths. Steve swallows hard above Max’s hair and just holds her tighter. She probably never lets herself feel these things. Why feel when she can just bottle it, shove it down, ignore it? Steve rocks them on their feet a little as tiny nails dig into his back.

“It’s okay, Max,” he whispers above her. “It’s okay.”

It’s okay to miss Billy. It’s okay to remember him and think about him. It’s okay to have known and loved him.

Max’s shoulders heave against Steve’s body, and then she’s pushing away. He lets her go without any hesitation, dropping his arms and taking a step back. The mantle sticking out of the wall to Steve’s left is extremely interesting as he looks away, allows Max a moment to rub at her eyes. When she’s ready, she steps to the side and picks up a cardboard box, about the size of a small moving box.

“Here. These are… some of Billy’s things. I want you to have them, but if you don’t, it’s like whatever, I’ll just keep—”

“Max,” he says softly, breaking her nervous ramble.

It must have taken her a while to choose what to give up. Everything she’d saved is rightfully hers. Steve would never pretend to lay claim to anything of Billy’s. He didn’t know Billy like Max does. His pain is different from hers. They just share the loss.

“Whatever you wanna give me, kiddo, I’ll take it. And if you decide”—Steve shrugs and makes an exaggerated face—“someday that you want anything back, it’s yours. No risk, no obligation, operators are standing by, pick up that phone and call now.”

He winks huge and obvious just to get her to laugh, scoff. Something. It works when she fights a smile and rolls her eyes.

“Such a doofus,” she sighs. She shakes her head and then lifts the box up, offering it. “I have this for you and one more thing. It doesn’t really fit in the box good.”

Steve nods and worms out both hands to take the box. He almost manages it gracefully, only jostling the contents a little. It’s not that heavy, not like books, just feels full. Max is right there, though, placing something blue and yellow on top of the box. Familiar.

P C E 2 3 5

It’s scuffed something awful on one corner. Another is crinkled, obviously bent back into place so the whole plate is mostly flat. Steve wonders if Max had done the handy work.

“I went back to Starcourt a few days after they roped it off,” she admits quietly in the dark, not looking at him. “I don’t really know why. I just… had to. And while I was skating around the parking lot, I found this in the grass by the sidewalk.” 

And she wants Steve to have it. Steve blinks at it and then down at her. She has something else in her hands.

“Billy’s spare car key.” She closes her hands over it. “He kept it in his sock drawer.”

No. No, that’s too much. She’s giving too much of Billy away. Steve shakes his head above the box, and then searches for a safe place to put it down. He doesn’t even know what else waits for him inside it. Steve snaps up the license plate and holds it between them like a piece of paper.

“You can’t give me both, Max. That’s not fair to you.” He jerks the plate. “Pick one, and I’ll take the other.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she says, small.

Steve insists gently, “It does matter. It matters to me that you’re doing this, I… Please, Maxine. Please don’t give me both. You… cared about him, too. You don’t have to give me so much of him.”

She hurts so much more than she lets on. Steve wishes he had a solution for her. A cure. It’s an ache that goes away over time, but you never forget it.

“Please, Max.”

The plate shifts in his hand, and then it’s lighter. Steve lets it go. Max presses the extra key hanging from a ring, Chevy logo in a metal stamp. Clearly the spare key. Billy would never have left the manufacture’s logo on it. Steve brings the key close to his face and rubs a thumb over the teeth.

“Do you, um, have any idea what happened to the car?”

“No.”

Steve nods in the dark and then slips the key into his left pocket. His keys to the BMW are in his right. Of course she doesn’t know. Why would she? Her world had been rocked so fiercely that day, could she really keep track of it all? They certainly hadn’t kept up with Billy’s body. Steve tries not to think about how Billy was only mentioned at the town memorial for the 30 dead. His funeral was never a thing. If he thinks about it, he’ll hate Neil Hargrove all the more. 

“Okay. Um… thank you for all this, Max. And I mean what I said, if you ever go, ‘oh shit, I gave that to that doofus Harrington,’ I’m just a phone call away. Deal?”

He holds his hand out to her. She just stares at it.

“I need to hear a yes or no, buddy, what’s it gonna be?”

Max’s face softens just a little. She sucks her teeth, so much like Billy, and slaps her hand to his.

“That’s a 10-4, good buddy, over,” she laughs. He knows she’s teasing Dustin’s pet peeve for radio etiquette. She shakes his hand for real and says, “Thanks, Steve. For everything.”

The drive to the quarry has never been this stressful. This anxious. It’s 11 at night when his tires send up gravel and a cloud of dust. The engine isn’t even quiet when Steve hops out of the BMW, box in hand. It’s too cramped inside the car to pick through the contents. Too dark. He’s parked under the one light out here, usually parks nearby so he can use the light to see instead of being caught in it. Can’t see into the darkness when you’re under the light. He has new trauma on top of the old, and he’s just hoping that now everything is actually done. 

Steve sets the box on the hood of his car. Like he expects something to jump out and get him. He spends an embarrassing amount of time walking around the box, hands in his hair, then at a cigarette, and then prying up the folded flaps of the box. Steve waits for the wind to take the grey smoke curling from the end of his cigarette to finally push the flaps wide open to see inside.

It’s not too much. Some photos of Billy. A few of his band t-shirts. His leather jacket takes up most of the space, is actually more like a nest for all the other things Max put in here. Steve has to take them out one by one to free the jacket. He lifts it like he would a baby and just holds it aloft, staring at it and trying to convince himself it’s not  _ the _ jacket. But it would be a hair too big for Billy, blanket him more than hug him. Steve draws the jacket down, closer, and holds it with one arm so that he can touch it with his hand. The collar is supple from use and sweat. Steve can’t stop himself from bringing it to his nose.

Oh.

He is back, then, to all the times he’d done this exact thing. And then he’s with Billy, face tucked to his golden neck and smelling skin directly. Steve’s face pinches as he holds the jacket tightly to him. He hasn’t cried over Billy in months. Hasn’t felt like he needed to. All that work he did to try and stop this shit is for nothing, now. The leather warms quickly from Steve’s body, from his shaky breaths. The warmer it gets, the more alive it is. The more it smells like Billy wore it hours ago and not months ago. Maybe longer. With his nose free of the collar, Steve steadies himself with a deep breath. When he opens his eyes, everything is blurry.

“Billy,” he sighs.

It doesn’t take much convincing for Steve to shed his own vest and tug the jacket on. He wonders while snapping the collar and smoothing his hands over the front if Max has Billy’s jean jacket. Or what happened to it. Regardless, he’ll cherish this one for as long as it’s his. The rest of the clothes end up back in the box. Not without Steve touching the fronts of every one. The photos end up in a neat stack. There are only five, Billy at different ages. Different levels of happiness as the years went on. A hardbound book, green cover that is worn at the corners, is next. On the front, it just says  _ Hans Christian Andersen’s Fairy Tales _ . Steve’s thumb pets the faded title. He bets that one is in here. Little mermaid. He’ll flip through it later. Maybe there’s something important in it.

Belt buckles and an actual belt. A notebook—the label in black marker reads Billy Hargrove, Kramer 7th. The senior English class they had together. Steve sets that next to the book. They’d studied poetry the first half of the year. Around the time the demodogs were a problem. Before Billy beat the shit out of him and then never said a word again. Did Max take a peek through Billy’s old school stuff? And besides, they graduated. Why would Billy have kept this a single second after the final bell their last day at school? Could be that he just forgot about it, and maybe Max found something beautiful inside. He’ll look at that when he has a moment alone at the apartment. The last thing to return is something he didn’t pay any attention to when pulling it out, too focused on getting his hands on the jacket.

It’s not the ring he thinks of every time he imagines Billy in his head. No. Steve recalls it clearly, Billy’s hands darting for the monster right as it attacked El. Billy almost never took it off in all the time they spent in Frankie’s apartment together. The memories aren’t fresh enough to make him blush anymore. He remembers those days, those moments in bed, so faded. Like old vacation videos from his childhood where, yes, he was there. He is a different person, now. So much of him still loves Billy. Fiercely, hopelessly. Steve’s slim fingers don’t suit the steel well. It ends up on his thumb, and he presses his lips to it. The key to the Camaro is hot in his left pocket. Burning. Wrapped up in Billy for the first time in so long, Steve holds himself to enjoy the moment.

After that, with Billy’s key never far from him, often on his person, Steve can’t get the Camaro out of his head. To the army guys who showed up and all the cops and shit, the car had just been another prop on the stage. Surely they just towed it away with all the other surface debris. Steve gets it in his head that maybe the clean up from Starcourt ended up somewhere close. Why pay a bunch of money to clean up a big mess? The only person who is methodical enough to keep track of all the phone numbers and phone calls is Dustin.

“So wait, why do you wanna find his car so bad?”

Steve hasn’t thought up a lie, just hoped Dustin wouldn’t ask for specifics once he said yes.

“Uh… I don’t know, cuz it was a cool car?”

Dustin levels a look at him.

“Try again, Steve, I know you’re full of shit.”

Honesty has always come easy with Dustin ever since their adventure on the railroad tracks. 

“Because… Because I wanna find it and fix it. Billy didn’t cause anything that happened, you know? The Mindflayer did. If we don’t blame Will for what happened, then we can’t blame Billy, either. And in the end, Billy saved El. I think… I think it would be cool to find the Camaro and fix it. To pay respects, you know?”

Dustin is already nodding with an open-mouth smile. 

“Man, you are such a softy,” Dustin teases. “I can’t believe how much of a douchebag you used to be. Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington wouldn’t give a shit about some dumb car.”

“Well, I do,” Steve says a little harder than he means, rolling too fast down the hill of his irritation to stop. “If you disagree, then don’t help me, okay? I don’t wanna force you to do something you’re just gonna complain about, I just wanna do something nice, because everybody acts like Billy just disappeared, nobody knows what he did to save us…”

Dustin stares at him with huge, puppy eyes. He knows he messed up.

“I’m sorry, Steve, you know I didn’t mean it like that, I was-I was just playing around. Of course I’ll help you.” He holds his hand out for their secret shake. “You’re in the Party, remember? And Party members always help each other.”

Steve follows the motions of their overly complicated handshake, messing up at least a quarter of it.

“Yea, yea,” he says when they’re done. “Thanks, Dustin. I really mean it, okay?”

Dustin plans their search on an actual map of the area. He has stick pins, string, notes written everywhere. They keep the search materials at Dustin’s house, Robin taking one look at them and writing them off as dumb boys on a wild goose chase. Still, at breakfast one morning, she passes Steve a page torn from the phonebook that lists junkyard from the next county over. They add it to the search and just… call and drive when they find the time. It’s mostly weekends with Dustin stuck in school. Sometimes Steve goes alone. He doesn’t like those trips, wandering aisles and aisles of dead cars. Every time his eyes pick out that distinct blue, his heart always leaps against his ribs. But it’s never the Camaro. He doesn’t have any identifying numbers from it or anything. He’ll just know it when they find it. 

Dustin is clear across the next junkyard they search, easily the tenth or more, when Steve gets really excited.

“Holy shit, Dustin!” He flings his head around, hands trembling where they rest on the faded, dented hood. “Dustin, over here! I think I found it!”

The guy who’d let them onto the lot, a guy thin as a reed named Jamie, rushes over with Dustin. Dustin was talking his ear off about radio equipment after Jamie showed interest. Better someone who understands it than Steve to listen to all the technical jargon going a mile a minute. When the others meet Steve at the car, Dustin bobs his head like he’s caught wind of a good beat.

“Yea, yea, I remember this fucker.” He slaps the top, but looks sheepish when Steve stares hard at him. “How will we know, though?”

Max only has one license plate. Steve recalls Billy having one in front and back for this thing. A peek at the front grill, the headlights busted out, shows the front one is missing. Steve’s legs are too thick for him to squeeze to the back.

“Fuck, Dustin, do you think you can fit around that side and—”

“I mean, not unless you want me to climb this shit like a jungle gym.”

“I’ll look for you, fellas,” Jamie offers, already climbing on top of a Ford wedged to the left of the Camaro. “Just run back to the office and call an ambulance if I fall, haha.”

Steve and Dustin nod at the same time, sharing a look. They watch from the grinning nose of the car as Jamie balances himself on top of the other cars, sometimes wobbling. The two of them sway with each motion, faces contorting when they think Jamie might fall. Finally, he hops in the bed of a pickup truck parked end-to-end with the Camaro. He has to hang his body over the tailgate, but eventually he rattles off a plate number.

“Uhhh… Papa Charlie Echo 2-3-5.”

Steve squints and frowns.

“... What?”

He never fails to disappoint Dustin at random times. Dustin looks up at him in disgust, like he’s supposed to know what Jamie has just said.

“Uh, hello? The NATO alphabet? It’s used during radio communications when you need to spell out letters. You ever try to say the letters D, P, and B to someone and they mess it up?”

“Hey, I work at Family Video, man, most people who call are morons or little old ladies who can’t hear for shit.”

“Then you should use the NATO alphabet. Or make up your own shit, P can be Paul, E can be elephant, whatever.”

Steve mumbles to himself, “Papa Charlie Echo…. So PCE?”

That night Max had given him Billy’s jacket and some other things. The license place.

P C E 2 3 5

Steve leaps and throws his hands in the air.

“PCE 235! That’s the plate, that’s the plate on Billy’s car!” Steve is still hopping until he stabs a finger into the hood. “This is Billy’s Camaro! We found it!”

Dustin would argue finding the car had been the difficult part. It could have been destroyed by now, and then they never would have found it. Never mind paying for the car, towing it, and then also finding a place he can just leave it. It can’t exactly sit in the tiny parking lot of Steve’s apartment building. If the Byers still lived here, he probably could have left it out there. If the Chief were still alive… But he doesn’t have those options, so they’re not worth mourning. Steve strikes a deal with one of the garages on Main Street. The old man who owns the business offers to just fix what he can for Steve, for a price of course. It’s not how Steve wants this to play out, though. He wants to fix the Camaro himself. For Billy.

If he could tell anyone, he thinks they would judge him. Max wouldn’t, but everyone else definitely would. None of them had known Billy like him. Dustin is fiercely protective, would probably never come around to Billy, given a chance. Steve doesn’t blame him. Then again, he could be wrong. When Steve laments in passing one arcade night that he has no idea what he’s doing, Dustin orders them to the library on a Saturday morning to look up books on welding, cars, and anything else they can get their hands on. The body work is easy enough to correct, just bending and coaxing the metal back into shape. When they start, Steve isn’t sure what his intentions are. To drive the car around? To just have it? This plan, like all of Steve’s plans, is a work in progress. Meaning he tweaks it and retools it while it’s in progress.

The difficult part of all this, more than finding the car, more than finding a place for the car, is fixing the stuff under the surface. Steve couldn’t begin to look under the hood and say with any confidence what a component is, it’s purpose. Besides pouring fluids in their specific holes and pumping gas, he is a lost cause with cars. The BMW had been a gift from his parents. He had no interest in cars before, still doesn’t now. Dustin’s help can only take him so far, but Steve doesn’t have all the free time in the world to spend on this. It’s sort of a guilty project. The more time he spends with the car, the more his guilt over all this looms.

It’s one of the many things about the whole Billy situation he hasn’t dealt with. His guilt over causing this. Sure, the Mindflayer could have taken anyone. Would have eventually, it was only a matter of time. But Billy and his family wouldn’t be here if Steve just kept it cool that night in the car. His greed exposed Billy’s lifestyle to his father. He’s the reason why Billy was beaten, is why Billy showed up here spitting and hateful. Billy would never have flirted with Karen Wheeler and got himself roped into this mess if Steve left well enough alone. 

Steve still doesn’t have all the answers. Billy isn’t around to tell him why he’d acted the way he did. Why he harassed Steve so openly, pretended like the summer never happened. Steve’s initial instinct is to assume it’s because Billy blamed him for the move. For taking him away from California. But if so? Why not just tell him? Why not just seek him out and take out his revenge immediately? No, it’s something else. He doesn’t have all the pieces to the puzzle. And that frustrates him, but until he has all the pieces, he’ll never get it. So work on the Camaro continues, mostly without Dustin at this point.

One of the guys who works in the shop, Ralph, takes pity on him. He walks up one day to Steve trying to unbolt something with the wrong size socket. And that he needs a ‘pneumatic gun’ to even loosen those bolts. Whatever that means. So when Steve shows up to the garage, thick work pants and a t-shirt on, Ralph joins him between jobs, after work. Whenever Ralph has time, Steve meets up. Ralph is a nice looking guy, not from around here. Built up and bulky from heavy lifting, his chest a bigger barrel than even Billy’s. He’s hairy under his uniform, skin warm brown from the sun and his Italian mother, or so he says. His full name is Ralphio, but he shortened it in school. Kids can be cruel, as Steve readily recalls.

It’s… a shame, Steve thinks, that he’s still so hung up on Billy. That he compares every attractive guy to Billy. To be fair to Steve, he has yet to be interested in any guy other than Billy. Ralph invited him to meet up at the bar on Main Street a few times. All casual like but with lingering looks. Robin already explained to Steve he’s probably bisexual, explained what that meant. He’s not entirely comfortable with it, again mostly because he’s never looked at another guy other than Billy. When he objects too much, Robin backs off and ends the conversation. Not wanting to push him. Not wanting to force himself into a label. Undoubtedly, Ralph is an attractive man. A good man. Steve feels nothing. He’s felt nothing for months now, is ready to feel even a little bit again.

He and Dustin had found the car around Halloween. It’s too cold to work on it much in December. At least not if Ralph is doing it for basically free. They get it to the point where the car starts and runs. It won’t go anywhere, though. There’s still a lot to do. But it starts. It’s more than Steve had thought would be possible. The first time the engine turned over, he let out a scream. Ralph left him be the one to start it for the first time. And that growl, that rumbling thunderclap was like waking up to Billy beside him. Refreshing. Comforting. So while they pause work until the temperature goes back up, Steve doesn’t stay away. Can’t stay away.

Ralph is the one who gives him a key to the yard where the body shop stores the Camaro. Steve uses that key after hours, when he can’t sleep, to sneak into the yard and just sit in the car. Enjoying it. Steve has decided at this point that he wants to drive it around. He wants it to be his car. His BMW is his love, yes, but… He cannot deny the deep connection he has to the Camaro. They’ve come all this way from a dream to a car that actually starts. He won’t give up now. It’s all he has left of Billy. The car and the box of treasures.

Steve doesn’t wear the jacket, never touches the t-shirts. Billy’s smell will fade from them eventually, more so if Steve handles them all the damn time. The jacket is of course his weakness. More than once he has spread out in his bed, the wall between his and Robin’s bedroom thin, and touched himself while breathing Billy in. It’s the second cruelest thing he does to himself, although he admits he can’t exactly control his dreams. No, the cruelest thing he does to himself is dream of Billy. More than once he’s fallen asleep to the idle of the engine, thought Billy was with him, and then startled awake. Alone. 

He blames it on the occasional alcohol and weed. Sometimes at the same time. Like tonight, a frigid Christmas Eve. He’d rather be alone than spend it with his parents. Robin is at her girlfriend’s place, and the Party is stuck with their families. Nancy visiting the Byers’ new house… So here he is, alone in the Camaro with a half-obliterated six pack and half a joint. The other half is…

Steve cracks the window down an inch to exhale into the cold air. The heating system isn’t 100% reliable yet. Hasn’t given out on him yet tonight, so he will party on. Pity party, mostly. 

He laughs for what feels like the hundredth time and slumps in the driver’s seat. 

“Can you believe, babe? I still fucking cough when I smoke?” Steve grins to the roof of the car. “You’d think I could handle it by now.”

He does this sometimes. Only when he’s extremely lonely. Sober, shitfaced, it doesn’t matter. He’ll ramble on to no one on rough nights when he just curls his knees against the steering wheel. Just talking. It’s all the things he can’t say to Robin or Dustin, anyone. He always comes back to Max and how she would understand. Maybe El, too. She looks at him in a particular way whenever she seems him. Her powers are coming back a little at a time. When he meets her eyes, he thinks as hard, as loud as he can, ‘No snooping.’ If it works, El doesn’t give him any clues. Eventually, one of the Party will distract her with something, and the moment passes. She’d been the one to break through to Billy in the end. She might understand how he feels.

“F-Fuck! It’s cold.” Steve fiddles with the vents, listens to them strain and almost crack from the chill. “You do not miss this, Billy, it’s only Christmas Eve and my balls are gonna freeze off.”

It’s a dumb thing to do, squeeze a hand down his chest, down his sweater until he cups between his legs. He’ll take it to his grave that he’s jerked off in here. More than once panting Billy’s name and imagining him here. It’s easier when he’s high. Just like having sex with Billy while high, his brain creates the phantom sensation of hands on him, things filling his mouth and reaching inside him. If he’s really feeling it, he can make himself come like that, barely touching himself at all. That’s not what Steve wants tonight, though, and so returns his right arm to his stomach, draped across him for warmth. No, tonight won’t be so easy and blissful. Some things have been building up for a while, now. The isolation makes him desperate to get them out. He always misses Billy more when he’s alone.

“Didn’t have to be this way,” he whines. “I’m sorry.” Steven smacks his head against the seat, still staring at the roof. “I told you that, right? That I’m sorry, that it was my fault. You didn’t even wanna kiss, and I made you…”

They’d done so in this very car. Steve’s head slumps forward until his chin is in his chest. Below, his foot twitches over the gas. He revs the engine for just a second, barely sends the needle above 3,000 RPM. He just wants to hear the engine pick up a little. Too much noise and someone will snitch on him, call the cops. And he doesn’t want to get Ralph in trouble. Ralph is nice, handsome. Helpful. Like he knows Steve has a cross to bear and just wants to make it easier. Ralph occasionally watches him for a long time. Mostly when he thinks Steve isn’t paying attention.

“Ralph isn’t… pretty like you, babe,” Steve reasons with himself. “He’s hot, sure, but like…” A shrug. “I don’t know, I don’t know why I don’t want him. I think I could get it, don’t you?”

Silence.

“Exactly, like, look at me!” Steve tugs on the forest green sweater keeping him warm. Billy’s jacket is in the passenger seat, shrugged off the moment smoking and drinking had made him sweat. Steve slumps back into the seat again when the moment passes. “I could get it. I just don’t want it from anybody else.”

His mouth is loose, now, looser than it’s been since Robin in the Russian base and then the bathroom. She’s so easy to talk to. He had that with Billy. He had so much with Billy.

“Fuck.” Steve slaps his hands to his face, overwhelmed out of nowhere. “Fuck, why am I doing this? Why am I talking to myself?”

If only the radio were working. The silence makes him nervous, and so he rambles. It’s worse when he’s fucked up like this. In thick silence like this, just Steve’s breaths cutting through, any little motion startles him. The wind blowing, something falling over. Each shadow is more monstrous than ever before. He knows it’s the weed helping his mind to play tricks on himself.

But it still scares the shit out of him when the interior lights flicker on. Steve rocks the whole car with his flinch, shocks whining from the cold. The lights have been doing that since Thanksgiving. Ralph can’t figure out where the gremlin is in the electricals. His suggestion is for them to strip the old lighting system out and just replace it. Steve gently turns that down every time. He doesn’t want to start replacing bits and pieces of the Camaro. Here and there, just a little. Eventually, they’ll just replace everything and it’ll just be a car. It won’t be Billy’s anymore.

“Just like me, haha…” Heat wells up in his face all over again as he allows his thoughts to wander. It’s something prickly, this thought. Something he doesn’t let himself touch for fear of shredding his fingers on. Something he can’t ignore tonight. “You know what's funny, babe?”

Nothing. 

Steve sniffles hard but can’t stop the wobble in his chin. 

“I’ve been thinking about it a lot… Remember when I told you about-about that animal that broke loose and like killed a bunch of people? It was all part of that shit, the thing that took… you.” Steve tilts back into the headrest, knows Billy had done the same and wishes he could feel it somehow. Eyes tightly shut and voice trembling hard, Steve admits, “I lied about it. If I just told you the truth right then, you woulda known everything. Maybe…” His eyes open full and overflowing as he stares at the roof. “Maybe things would be different. Maybe you’d… be here. With me.” He swallows a wail, holding his breath, and then wheezes, “Pretty fuckin funny, right?”

Except it’s not funny. Steve whines through another hot ball of emotion that chokes him. The interior lights glow slowly on and slowly off again. Mocking his struggle.

He kicks the underside of the dash.

The light doesn’t come back on.

“Fucking thing,” he slurs. “All this time and effort, and you fuck with me like that? You could give a guy a heart atta—” 

The dash lights come on this time. Pale green. This never happens when Ralph is around.

“No, no, stop, come on…”

Steve sits up and smacks his hands on the dash. He doesn’t want to deal with this right now. He just wants to sit and wallow in his loneliness, talking to no one. No one, or his boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend.

“Who am I kidding? Were we anything to each other, Billy?” Steve closes his eyes, but the dash glowing softly still gets through. “Everything happened so fast. I just… We just met each other, and I knew I wanted you, I just… didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know it would end up like this.”

Steve curls forward until his arms brace on the top of the steering wheel, creating a space for him to cuddle himself against the airbag. It’s long gone, the horn removed, too. There’s no risk of him honking it on accident this way.

“I’m sorry,” Steve whispers against the sleeve of his sweater. “I’m so sorry, babe. I miss you so fucking much and”—Steve rubs his eyes hard on his sleeve—“and I never got to apologize. I ruined your life, Billy, I ruined it, I…”

But he can’t keep the whine out of his voice, and his throat closes up. It’s either that or start screaming. Let out a mournful wail. He’s so tired of crying over Billy Hargrove. Nose stuffed now, Steve shoves himself back into the seat with a little noise. Hurt and alone. It’s the one moment of sound he allows himself. Crying is one thing. Being loud about it is another entirely. Even when he’s alone, he can’t do it. His face melts a little just thinking about finally letting it all out. It’s just been building up all this time, crawling up his throat and crowding behind his teeth, let us out, let us out!

“Fuck,” he whines again, choking to not let it out. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

Steve slams his hands against the seat, throws them against the steering wheel just to make it hurt. Gripping it in stinging hands, Steve yanks himself forward until his head rests on the center, where the horn had been.

“I never got to say goodbye, and that’s so fucked up, and then we never talked again, and I had to just live here with you so close, but you hated me and-and I wish we could go back, I wish I could undo this, Billy I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” He sucks in a terrible, painful breath. Tight through his teeth, Steve begs, “Please don’t hate me, Billy. I loved you so much, please…”

Shoulders shaking, Steve shudders through his exhales. He hasn’t cried this hard since he was a child. The dash flashing slow and long again makes him want to keep crying.

“Please, car, just work with me. I’m already fucking miserable enough, can’t you just work with me?”

But it still flashes. The pale green of the dash. On… Off… Steve mops up his wet cheeks and stares at the lights. On… Off… The longer he watches, that soft back and forth so comforting, the more his eyes dry up. Like he doesn’t need to anymore. Like he’s okay. It’s… comforting. 

Steve reaches out why shy fingers to the speedometer. It caps out at 130. Sniffling, Steve smiles at it and wonders if Billy had never pushed the Camaro that hard. He’s done 100 just once in the BMW. It felt like the car would buck him with one wrong move. The Camaro, though? It’s meant for speed. Same as Billy. Steve huffs a laugh and turns a look towards the interior. He’s usually alone in this car, now, but it’s not the crushing sort he carries with him all the time. Steve’s hand slips to the steering wheel again, and he closes his fist around it.

“I miss you,” he says again, smile almost peaceful. His throat is still painfully tight, so he has to swallow a few times to continue. His voice is quiet and breaks a few times. “I can’t say it enough. Don’t say it enough. You’re just another secret I’m not supposed to talk about. And that sucks, cuz I… Fuck, Billy, I still love you.” Steve slaps his left hand to his forehead and pushes his hair back. His left thumb is chilly with Billy’s ring. It’s the only finger on Steve the ring fits. “And isn’t that the dumbest thing you’ve ever heard? I’m so fucking stupid…”

The dash lights go out again. He’s alone with his sniffling. 

All the lights in the Camaro glow at once. The dash, the radio, even the fucking exposed wires of the headlights. Steve rears up in the seat, trying to climb it like he needs to scramble away. Electricity crackles through the wires, and it’s like a death scream in his ears. It ends almost as soon as it begins. He sees spots of colors, twinkling like Christmas lights strewn up all over town…

Christmas lights…

When Steve breathes next, his voice leaks through as he hyperventilates. The Christmas lights strewn about the old Byers house. Jonathan, Nancy, and him against the monster. The lights had signaled where it was coming from, that it was there at all. But then after Jonathan set it on fire… After that, the strand with the big bulbs played games with them. Ticking on and off across the house. Jonathan breathless beside them called out softly to Joyce in the Upside Down. And she called to him, too, through the divide. They felt each other then, through the divide.

Outside the Camaro, it begins to snow again. The watch at Steve’s wrist beeps. Midnight. It’s Christmas. He holds his breath, still tense as a spring ready to go. Waiting to see what will happen. What the lights will do.

The green of the dash returns. On… Off…

Steve takes a look around again, closes his eyes to just feel everything. When he’s here, that weight in his heart lightens. He is closer to Billy here, in the car they’d spent so much time getting to know each other. Flirting. Smiling.

Eyes stinging again, Steve relaxes into the driver’s seat again. Licks his lips. Frets over how silly this is, it’s stupid, it’s stupid…

‘… like when he calls himself stupid…’

Only Billy would get upset over a little remark like that.

Blurry eyes focused on that gentle glow, back and forth like a comforting hand, Steve gathers all the hope in his heart, pushes it against the space that’s shaped like Billy. Hope… Hopefully, his voice will echo through the divide, give comfort to him. Like Billy comforts him now.

“Are you there? Billy?”

The pale green of the dash. On… Off… 


End file.
